Sepsis
by Lady Sanzennine
Summary: PostAC. What better way to strike at the puppet than through the woman he loves? Sephiroth forces Aeris back to life in order to endure a twisted game of seduction and surrender. Dark, disturbing, philosophical.
1. 1

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

X – X – X – X – X

Author's Note: Four years after the events of Advent Children, Sephiroth rallies for one last attempt to crush Cloud and become a god. Using the power of Jenova, he forces Aeris back to life in order to endure a twisted game of seduction and surrender. But only from the union of opposites can there be enlightenment, and neither party could ever have predicted what they would get themselves into.

Sepsis, I like to think, is a thoughtful, contemplative fanfic in which I intend to thoroughly explore Sephiroth and his motivations. Be warned, this is not a WAFFY fic, and Sephiroth does not play nice.

When I was a teenager, like many fangirls, I wanted Sephiroth to fall in love, to know the truth, and find redemption. It was so easy back then to pin the blame on Hojo or Jenova, who are as ugly within as they are without.

Sepsis is not going to take that route. So, if you, like me, are looking for a more adult story, a darker story, where Sephiroth stays true to his villainy, then dear reader, I hope you will enjoy _this_ story of love and redemption.

X – X – X – X – X

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 1**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

…_I won't become a memory._

.

.

She is his vessel and he is Her scion.

And though he knows that her presence is a myth, that their blood bond is a lie, he loves Her all the same.

She's the comfort that he rests in and the power that soothes him. She's a plague upon the world, but isn't he the plague that the world created? When the Planet was young and natural, She was the alien on sacred soil. And it was they who ravaged that soil and exploited it to produce him.

Within the Lifestream, his consciousness is alone.

What he remembers is his hatred. He remembers the hypocrisy and the greed, the oppression and the falseness. He remembers dreams of heroism, honor and chivalry, all manipulated by money.

.

.

.

She is his vessel and he is Her scion.

His consciousness, Her vitality, together and separately they beat with the ebb and flow of the Lifestream.

Humans…still so arrogant. As if some holy water could purge the world of Jenova. As if the will of a dead Cetra could deny Sephiroth his destiny.

He had waited, been patient, for four long years. She had stayed silent, compliant with his will. Deep within the cells of each host, She had grown, Her life force hidden. Her nature, insidious; his plans, undetected.

Waiting, in the waves of the Lifestream, for that critical mass.

Humans forget quickly and are careless by nature. Simple beings whose attention can only be focused for brief moments at a time. Each time they'd loved, they had spread Her essence. Each time they gave blood, they gave Her cells too.

Their bodies incubated Her being. Their bodies would resurrect their god.

He would restore life to its proper balance. Death and decay, as though the Planet itself sent forth a plague to wipe out the weak and undeserving. This is the cycle of life, where the strong will prevail and the weak must give way.

.

.

.

_I am that strength and She is my vessel._

And when he returned to the world of the mortal, those who'd opposed him –

_I will extinguish._


	2. 2

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 2**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

"_In other news, the sudden pandemic that swept the Planet this week is showing no signs of slowing down. People of all ages from all nations are continuing to pour into local hospitals that are already above capacity. Experts suspect that we're seeing a return of Geostigma after two years of dormancy and mutation. No further details have been released at this time. Everyone is advised to be extra cautious. Please ensure that best practices are observed and that you are using proper hand washing techniques. _

"_And now we'll head over to the Shinra Research and Development department where Dr. Ransarn is here with us. Dr. Ransarn, what is the latest news from your department? We hear your team's made some progress in understanding this phenomenon?"_

"_Well, unfortunately, we have nothing conclusive just yet. Based on past experiences with Geostigma, we've learned that it's best not to make any early assumptions. Right now we have a working theory that the peace and quiet we've had in the last four years was just the lull before the storm. In some ways, we think that the Jenova cells were functioning like lysogenic viruses – hiding in human cells until recently, and then exploding out."_

"_Now, Dr. Ransarn, I believe that we were told that the Geostigma was cured as a result of the Lifestream cleansing the affected individuals. Was that not the case?"_

"_Perhaps, and perhaps not. At this point there is no definitive way of knowing. What we do know, however, is that Geostigma was initially spread through the lifestream. Therefore, I think it's safe to say that the lifestream did _not_ act as a true cure._

"_Thank you for the insight Dr. Ransarn, and for joining us today. As always, we will be releasing updates on the current situation every hour on the hour. In the meantime, we are advising everyone to stay calm and to stay indoors. Rest assured that the AVALANCHE team is working diligently with the new Shinra Company to resolve this matter as quickly and safely as possible."_

* * *

The hospital was dark and still. The smell of industrial disinfectant permeated the halls and rooms distastefully. Everything within the clinical, colorless building seemed unpleasant, as if filled with a thick miasma. The dead and dying lay everywhere in their white cots, silent.

There was one room, though – one room containing one boy on his feet amidst the unconscious victims of the second Geostigma Phenomenon.

In that room, the dead and dying were birthing glory and history.

And what a magnificent birth! Pleasure born in pain. Each bursting human cell spilled more of Her. Their deaths gave way to Her life and their strangled energy fueled Her power. Each death empowered him and brought him closer to Her. If he could touch Her…feel Her…

Mother-

He would know such brilliance. To be with Her.

The boy released the man he held in his grasp, allowing the corpse to drop heavily onto the hospital cot. He silently moved to the next bed and stroked the forehead of its patient tenderly. He was already beginning to change, with each absorption quickening the process. Color bled from his dark hair as it lengthened and warm brown eyes and skin paled. His youthful face appeared thinner, harder, than it had moments before.

Gently, he wrapped his hand around the throat of the unconscious girl before him. She was there, within the human's body, so full of energy and power, calling to him, straining towards him. He was intoxicated, lost in the feel of Her beneath the girl's warm skin. He inhaled and _pulled_, his body perfectly still, and She was there, in him, around him, holding him.

He laughed in delight. In madness.

Yes, he would know Mother. She would be there and She would make everything alright.

The last of Her essence seeped into his skin and he released the girl with a soft sigh. She was little more than a husk now. Dried blood coated her throat where his hand had been, the skin ripped apart by the movement of Her cells.

Soon…

Brother was going to be so surprised when he woke up. When he realized what had happened.

Such pride – thinking he could defeat Mother that easily. How could he think that She could be so easily finished after so many millennia? How could the dead girl think that her extravagant displays of power would silence Mother forever?

He was going to show them Her true power, Her glorious reunion.

Brother would cry.

Mother's prodigious son would see to that. He would return and-

_Am I a puppet?_

-wrap his anger around Brother, tighten it-

_Mother..? Why am I-? _

- rebirth the madness from four years past in despair and loss.

_Am I being used?_

Then She was there again, wrapped around his consciousness, offering love, stability, and comfort. She stroked him gently and he breathed in deeply, the anxiety and doubt like a fast-fading nightmare. In her arms he could taste the sweetness of the Promised Land. He could see his destiny and Her beauty, intertwined, forever.

And that was all he wanted. Just forever, a land of milk and honey, and Her.

He moved to the next cot, but before he could touch the human, a shrill scream interrupted him.

"What are you doing?" A feminine voice cried out in alarm. "Security! Security! Oh my God!"

He glanced behind him and saw the nurse, pale and terrified. She was staring gape-jawed at the corpses on the beds closest to the door.

The boy's gaze locked on the nurse's wide eyes and he moved with fluid grace. She tried to run - from the image of a boy who was a man, with dark hair that reflected more light than it absorbed.

He stood in front of her within a second with hands firmly clamped on either side of her head before she realized what was happening.

_A changing boy-_

A twist, a sickening crack, and her body lay in a tangled heap on the sterile floor of the hospital.

_-of silver, green, and empty insanity._

His consciousness hovered, formless and waiting. Everywhere on the Planet he could feel her cells executing his plan in synchronicity. Each infected cell of each host was reproducing her at the cost of its own existence.

It was poetic, really. The sacrifice of lower beings to bring about something so much greater. He rather thought they should be honored to serve in such a cause.

It seemed so strange, so circular. The puppet found the strength to fight from his desire for vengeance. The puppet hated because of a destroyed town, a lost mother…

And a lost love.

Ah, and that was the key wasn't it? She was the key?

The puppet became strong because of that hate. The puppet defeated him-

_Twice_

-because of that hate.

He lived for the same reason. Hate and vengeance - such incredible sources of power. They held his consciousness together, allowed him to continue to exist without existing, gave him the strength to direct Mother's cells. Position, maneuver, regroup.

He would not allow a failed human experiment – a _boy_ who couldn't even enter SOLDIER – to defeat him. To be robbed of perfect victory by the embodiment of failure was a suffered grievance that he could not –would not – forget.

Now the power called to him. Mother was singing, piercingly, harshly, a cacophony of sound only he and the Planet could hear. As her cells concentrated themselves within the body of his chosen vessel, her fire swelled. Each cell reinforced the other, binding together, working within the boy to change him according to his will. The boy had stopped fighting hours ago. Now he was completely consumed by the madness and the uncontrollable rush of power. He willingly drowned himself in the presence of Mother, surrendering his mind and body to Her – to him.

Soon now, he would be able to descend and slip into the boy with ease. The boy's body would become his body, in both image and substance. He would return again, powerful and wrathful, and he would find _her._

The Cetra girl.

"_What is most important to you? Would you give me the pleasure of stealing it from you?"_

The puppet had become angry and once again found unknown strength within himself. He'd replied scathingly, spouting something about pity and everything being important.

How ridiculous.

If everything was important, just as if everything was special, the corollary would simply be that nothing would be important, and nothing would be special.

The puppet's verbal answer was insignificant, as it stood. Sephiroth had seen into his mind in that moment before Cloud gained the upper hand.

It had been strange. Flashes of images, of people…of foreign, irrational feelings. He had often studied the images in his memory in the time following the first Geostigma Phenomenon. The Cetra girl, Zack, the girl who fought valiantly with her fists, children…

The Cetra was special though. Her memory was held at the forefront of his mind. She was strangely cherished; a central figure in his life. So many emotions revolved around her – love, guilt, happiness, sorrow, laughter, regret, flirtation, peace, failure and inspiration.

So it was there that he would strike. Through that bond he would destroy the puppet and then resume his plan to absorb the Planet.

She was the key, and the key was nearly within his hand.

The puppet would cry, and it would be beautiful.

* * *

"_This just in: Tragedy claims hundreds of patients in Wutai hospital. Police arrived to investigate after a suspiciously long period of time passed without any word from hospital staff. They found the staff murdered and all the patients admitted for suspected cases of Geostigma dead. Cause of death is still unknown. Patients were discovered in their beds, appearing partially mummified. Coroners are scrambling to determine whether the Geostigma is responsible. Deaths like these have never been witnessed or documented, nor have they occurred in any other Geostigma patients to date._

"_A further search of the hospital revealed no clues except that several items are unaccounted for in ward 2D. Medical supplies including syringes, antiseptics, and gauze appear to have been taken by the party responsible for the murders of the staff._

"_As more information is released, newscasts every ten minutes on the tens will keep you informed. In the meantime, please keep your doors and windows locked and don't venture out after dark."_


	3. 3

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 3**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

_It is well agreed upon that all of existence is in motion. Each particle of being, each component of what _is_, vibrates with an energy that interlinks all things. The energy connects earth to sea to air to heaven; body to spirit; Life to Death – Death to earth._

_We know that once we die, we return to earth, to the Planet, to its lifeblood, and again we come back. As energy connects all things in circular infinity, so too does energy flow from Life to Death, and back again, in circular eternity._

_The circle has no beginning and no end. It is complete, holy as it were,_ always _is its path. So Life then blends into Death and Death flows within and through earth. We call this Lifestream. Now, again, we have Life, as _we_ know it, and with each birth, earth is depleted of Lifestream and so causes death._

_Now, we see that, in fact, Life is Death, and Death is Life. _

_It follows that the lines between the two are, truly, nonexistent – if you but look a little deeper. Walls do not separate them as is often believed, for the circle possesses no breaks, only perfect continuity._

_Death, as we call it, often touches Life, and vice versa. Sometimes – most times – this happens through dreams, as they are acceptable to the conscious mind. Sometimes contacts occur in what are thought of as visions or lunacy. Rarely, but still sometimes, it happens physically, as a fleeting grasp of the hand between supposed Dead and supposed Living._

_But the conscious mind is rarely prepared to cope with such a thing. Such profound truths of mysteries can be glimpsed in those moments, so overwhelming that they can shatter the mind. This knowledge we all once possessed, Truth, may come as a flood, powerful and deadly. For there are reasons we are born with empty minds. _

_Life is not equipped to see Truth._

_So visions and touch become relegated to the land of dreams. Delusion and ignorance are often necessary for sanity._

_One must wonder though, how does Death appear to Life? By what means does Death_ touch _Life?_

_But first, what _is_ vision? _

_As we understand it, sight is the result of light striking an object and reflecting into our eyes. So if Death may actually appear to Life, if indeed it is sight and not hallucination, we may then assume that Death was before us. Death as such would be physical. Death would need solid planes for light to strike. _

_And of course, it goes without saying (though we shall say so now, if only to be thorough), that if Death were to touch Life, then Death in that moment must be composed of substance._

_And why does Death appears in its old form? Lost loved ones, when they contact Life, reassume the appearances of old Life. Why?_

_Here there are only questions. We do not know the answers as you do not know the answers. Perhaps Death's actions are such for the sake of Life. Life's perception is limited, its senses only five, and if Death chose not to appear as old Life, it is possible that Life would not recognize the image it saw. Or, perhaps, Death loves nostalgia as much as Life does. Perhaps it is a matter of familiarity and comfort._

_Then again, perhaps the reason actually involves less choice than we know. It is impossible to understand the mechanisms of rebirth, as time for the resting spirit passes so much more quickly than in Life. When the spirit again leaves Lifestream to walk solidly on the Planet, civilizations have already fallen and risen again. There is no one left to recognize the appearance of the new body. If new and old body were, in fact, identical, none of the living would be capable of reporting such. But, sometimes, through artifacts and ancient images of the famous, long dead, we may glimpse the face of rebirth._

_Even so, it is never taken as such. We remark that the rare living is lucky to look like the renowned of times long gone, and life moves on._

_Is it then possible that spirit and body share a profound and permanent connection, even after life? Is the body simply a manifestation of the spirit, its features always just so, for reasons beyond us? _

_Sometimes the body remains_ on_ the Planet. Sometimes the body is destroyed and exists in a dimension beyond our grasp. Always, in one manner or another, it waits upon the spirit, ready in the event that corporeal form is needed._

_Now we return to the beginning, as the circle we discussed. We began with vibrations and energy. All things are connected through the energy that flows between them. Now we are left with a most important, final question. _

_If body and spirit are tethered together eternally in this manner, is the body the beginning of a path of flowing energy that, if walked, would lead to the spirit?_

* * *

The lake was bitterly cold. Chilling water enveloped Sephiroth, dancing across his skin, weaving through his hair, and burning his narrowed eyes. The further he descended into the lake the harder he was forced to fight against the desire to simply close his eyes and rest. The cold was painful, but calming, as it worked its way beneath his skin and muscles to grip his bones. Every inch downwards increased the pressure in his ears. Concentration became more and more difficult as his surroundings darkened as he traveled deeper, away from the scattered rays of the sun.

His progress was nearly impossible to track now. The constant pain within his ears temporarily desensitized them and it became difficult to tell if the water sluicing over his limbs meant he was still traveling downwards or to the side.

He was blind and deaf within the sheath of the lake. In truth, he had no real idea of how he was going to find her. Intuition had led him to this course of action – blind faith in a feeling of certainty that _something_ would show him where she lay. A glimmer of power, or…

And there it was, still further beneath him, before him, and towards the right. He sensed a faint presence there. Neither life nor magic, but he knew with certainty that she was there. Residue of Lifestream, perhaps, from the numerous times she had called upon the use of her body for the sake of the puppet. Yes, the body had waited here in its grave, patiently, always ready to answer to the needs of the spirit.

She was a rare, if not entirely unique, case. For her, for one of her power, the path that joined Life and Death was only a few short steps. The ease with which she could access Life was so great that she freely did so. And if he was correct, it would mean that her body would be in excellent condition, likely magically frozen at the bottom of the lake as his body had once been frozen within mako.

His searching fingers brushed cloth and frozen skin.

A surge of triumph washed through him and he quickly took hold of the corpse. He pinned the heavy, icy body against his with one arm and quickly kicked himself upwards. As the water rushed over him, the searing pain in his ears lessened and the faint, dancing light of the sun filtered through water steadily brightened.

He broke the surface with a gasp and relished the feeling of air in his lungs, easing away the clenching ache. Soon enough he would be above such humiliating limitations, without need for either oxygen or sustenance. Once the Planet was within him, he knew then that there would be no pain and no more of the constant struggle to obtain the requirements of living.

Mortals spent all of their existence chasing physical things and sometimes abstract concepts in an effort to live and live happily. Food, security, esteem, and _love_. All so meaningless. When one looked closely at their pursuits, limited by such a short lifespan, one found, in the end, absolutely nothing.

But _he_ would transcend such meaninglessness. He would become Life itself, and Death itself. In that state, there would be completeness – holiness.

First, there was the matter of the puppet. The puppet who _dared_ challenge him and even – though he loathed to admit it – win. Such disgrace, to be felled by a failure. But not this time. No, this time the game had changed and the puppet would be brought to his knees. This time all would be set right. The paragon would be elevated to godhood and the rejected would be relegated to death.

But first, there was the matter of vengeance. And his revenge against Cloud Strife promised to be intoxicating.

He stroked towards the edge of the lake, dragging the heavy, waterlogged corpse behind him. When he reached the shore, he climbed to his feet with effort, his breathing hard. The body he carried fell to the ground with a loud thud. He took the moment to steady his lungs and brace himself against the biting cold of the Ancient Capital. A slight breeze brushed past him like the caress of glass shards, further cooling the beads of moisture that clung to his nakedness.

He looked down at the body. How to best carry her into the city? Frozen to the very core, she was completely unbendable. She was a cold, wet, heavy object.

Frowning in irritation, he settled for the disgraceful method of carrying her vertically against him. He wrapped his arms around the torso of the cadaver and pressed it securely against his side. With the matter solved, he strode away from the lake purposefully, heading towards the ancient house where he had left his effects.

He was there in minutes. The creatures that inhabited the abandoned city were intelligent enough to stay out of his way. With one arm propping the body against his, he used his free hand to open the door of the foreign-looking abode. Within the small building, the fire he'd left behind blazed.

He entered the house and dropped her in front of the fireplace. He turned her onto her back roughly with his foot. First, the body needed to thaw and return to a temperature that bore some resemblance to the living. Then the…interesting part could begin.

He left her there while he went to dry off and dress.

As he went about, encasing his feet in his heavy boots and his body in his leather coat, Jenova stirred in anticipation. She was pleased.

_Joy._

'Soon, Mother,' he thought. He felt the waves of her pleasure wash through him through their physical and spiritual connection. He could sense the singing glee in her as she contemplated what was to come.

Then it faded, replaced by a strangely timid apprehension that he could not recall feeling from her before.

_Difficult._

Ah, so she was worried about the method. He supposed that was understandable.

'Do not worry, Mother,' he assured her, ever the good son. 'You are strong and you will prove it to them. I have faith in you.'

She gave the equivalent of a nod and then she questioned him. He sensed curiosity in her projected impressions about his plans. He had not let her know much of what he intended to do with the Cetra, mostly because he was still unsure himself. He would use her to strike at Cloud, yes, and he would take great pleasure in his actions in a multitude of ways.

But the exact method of accomplishing his goals, that had yet to be finalized. There was time to be leisurely with such things. Geostigma's effect on the world gave him quite a bit of time to work with.

First, he had to ensure that the resurrection succeeded. The foundation still needed to be laid. But there was little he could do to prepare for the task. That was Mother's duty alone.

If the Ancient could sever the ties or erect barriers between spirit and body as easily as she traversed between Life and Death, things could become quite difficult.

Now, if she lacked such ability, and if no unforeseen circumstances or powers were to interfere, then the game was as good as finished. Jenova would be in such a position as to secure victory regardless of immediate outcomes.

He prepared to rest, closing his eyes and slowly lowering himself to sit on the floor. In the half-conscious state of not-quite sleep, he spoke to her and she to him in colors, images, and brilliant sensations.

* * *

The syringe needle punctured his left wrist with a quick, sharp pain. He concentrated on the mechanics of what he needed to do.

He held the syringe steady with the fingers of his left hand and carefully drew the plunger outwards with his free hand. Crimson liquid slowly filled the barrel, warm and disturbing against his skin.

'You are ready?' He asked.

_Yes._

There was nothing more intimate to the body than blood. It was something that defined him physically more than any visible part of his anatomy. She was there inside it, Her cells suspended within the fluid, sometimes fused with his own. Part of Her lived there, dancing and playing within his veins. Her presence in him was the source of such strength. It connected him to the planes of energy that humans with all their technology were completely blind to. It connected him to magic beyond the Planet and allowed his consciousness to exist without form. It connected him to Meteor.

He shoved the needle into the corpse's wrist and swiftly injected the red liquid into the vein.

She was going to perform a miracle worthy of the gods. A resurrection beyond mortal capacity to understand.

The process continued for several days – withdraw blood, inject blood, rest, and repeat. Time ceased to have clear definition as each day bled into the next without significance. He sacrificed his own strength during that time, willingly putting himself at risk in favor of speed. She told him that Cloud was still abed, consumed by Geostigma, and that was enough.

During those days his blood moved of its own accord throughout the collapsed circulatory system of the cadaver, propelled by Her will in the absence of a heartbeat. Her cells worked tirelessly to restart the mechanisms of the girl's own cells, shocking them into life again, providing the energy and sustenance they needed. Alien cells surrounded Ancient tissues and bent them to Her will, enslaving the body, commanding it to respond. Little by little, Death's pallor left the corpse. The skin remained pale but no longer ashen, the flesh still and cold, but no longer frozen.

As the body was restored, little by little, Jenova mapped its energy signature micrometer by agonizing micrometer. Each molecule of its composition's vibrating force was an enigmatic piece of the puzzle that was coming together. Vibration led to vibration, a trail of energy from each modicum of the Ancient to the next. Each step along the path revealed more of it, each success of discovery making the next easier, quicker.

And then Crisis and Cetra, plague and host, destroyer and protector, were together in infinite white. Power resonated all around them with every tone of the Promised Land's song, still just slightly beyond reach. Jenova tightened her grip around the girl, extending metaphysical fingers that stretched and lengthened, curled and held. She read the girl quickly, learning about her, seeing into her core.

There, just there, was the link between the girl and the Promised Land. Through those threads of existence, if she could _just_ touch them – still just beyond reach, so close – she could clasp the very essence of a land whose entire being was power.

And she was so close…

* * *

Within the Promised Land, Aeris waited, shuddering at the icy caress of the Calamity upon her soul.

She would go, willingly, back to Living world. To protect this land from Jenova. To fulfill one final mission.

At her side, Zack kissed her goodbye.

And then cold tendrils wrapped around her and she allowed herself to be pulled away. She was moving without motion. Her vision full of brilliant blues, greens and yellows faded into bleak gray and then darkened into impossible black. She traveled the path without effort or thought, instinctively following the threads that would lead her back to her body. All around her she could feel the Crisis, desperately clawing at her, angered by the turn of events. She tried not to shudder and failed as the overwhelming revulsion of being cocooned within the Crisis further consumed her. The temperature was dropping, the world becoming colder and darker still with each passing moment. The further she pushed towards her body, the further she distanced herself from the Promised Land. Its soothing nature and the certainty that came from being one with all things and knowing all events of time disappeared, quicker and quicker still.

She was empty. She was falling. She was _dying_.

Terror overtook her. So cold. Where was the light? Was she hyperventilating? Going mad?

It was terrible. So much. So little. Thoughts and images flooded her, knocking the wind out of her, throwing her onto the ground. Was she-?

The Ancient opened her eyes and all she knew was pain.


	4. 4

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 4**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

She was so cold. Terribly cold. The ceiling above her blurred, faded, and refocused. It danced as she stared at it through a haze of hot tears. Orange and red skimmed it, rose and fell and gave way to shadows.

Shadows – shapes? What was that there in the corner, the ceiling, gazing at her, reaching for her? It wanted to consume her. It was –

So hot. Her right side was on fire. Too hot when the rest of her was so horrifyingly cold. Were there flames? Licking at the parched skin? Was there ice? Ice clinging to her hair, her eyelashes, her bleeding fingers.

Was this hell?

_Mine._

The voices, the shadows, they spoke to her. They cried of possession, domination and blood. They sang to her, softly, but each note in her ears rang so painfully, not in her ears at all but in her very soul.

_Mine. _

_Girl. _

_Mine._

This wasn't right. Nothing was right. The voice was different. The melody…so horribly different. There was once a beautiful voice, wasn't there? There was once a different song? Oh that song, sweet and full of melancholy love. Not death and rage.

Why couldn't she hear that song? Why had it rejected her like this?

_Abomination._

_Forsaken._

And that was what she was. It told her, and it spoke true.

Who was singing to her? And gods, that _voice_! That vibration in her being…

She clawed at herself. Frantic. Mad. The voice was inside her. The shadows inside her.

But she could get them out. She _would_ get them out. And then, oh and then, the terror would end and the beautiful song would come back.

A sudden wave of agony electrified her every nerve. A seizure hit her and her body jerked into the air, onto the ground. She was sprawled on the floor.

Too close to the terrible fire.

Too far from the beautiful, sweet, killing fire.

_Anger._

The voice was angry. Hatred resonated in every alien syllable. It wanted her (no, it had her, didn't it?) and it wanted her to _scream_.

_Power. _

_Gone_.

Power? Gods, what power? She gasped. The shadows loomed, closing in. Shadows wrapped their fingers around her neck.

She cried.

The ceiling dimmed. The flames exploded. Her vision blackened. The voice faded, slightly, leaving –

Memories? Pictures. Blue and green and so much light. Was that where she came from? Before this…hell? Was that heaven, in those pictures? A man, tall, strong, wild black hair-

"_I love you, Aeris."_

And she loved him. Absolutely loved him.

Where was he? Why wasn't he here with her?

There was purpose in this, wasn't there? There was an image, dark and hazy beyond the veil of pain. There was a girl (was that her?), and there were others, and there was a feeling…a feeling she could not feel. What was it called?

Hope?

Peace?

She was here, here on the floor, writhing in _hell_ for a reason, wasn't she?

_I chose this?_

No! She couldn't have chosen this! She couldn't have known-

_Why is this happening?_

She clutched her head and ran, ran with her mind. She was sprinting, panting, towards the images of yellow, blue and green. They were flowers (flowers?), stretching to the horizon. A thousand beautiful colors. There was warmth there, in heaven. Perfect warmth; not cold, not hot. Oh, and light. Like the brightest of summer days.

_Summer day? I can't recall..._

She had been happy. There had been perfect happiness in that place, in that time. And happiness was warm. Not cold, not hot.

She was so cold. Too hot.

That place…she could almost taste it…it was _so_ close. Just a little more, a few more steps, a further droop of the eyelids. She could be there again. She could be safe again. No more pain.

The shadows danced. Shadows twirled madly. The fingers clenched tighter, digging, digging-

She screamed.

Her eyes were wide, her vision still distorted. Her hands clamped around her ears, desperate. But it was _inside _her. She knew it was inside her. Inside her blood.

Her blood.

It lived in her blood.

It wanted her blood?

She scratched, hard, frantic. Skin broke. Her blood ran red (that was normal, right? She was normal?) and covered her body. Her blood was warm. Not cold. Not hot. Her blood reminded her of heaven.

She bled and it pleased the voice. The song was viciously happy. Each cut seemed to invigorate it. Each drop encouraged it.

The pain didn't lessen. The cacophony in her soul didn't fade. She was dying with each second as more of her spilt onto the ground.

Was she spilling at all? Was it her blood or another's? It didn't feel like her blood.

No, it was her blood! Had to be her blood! The shadows, the voices, inside her, wanted _her_ blood.

Oh the pain was hers enough. The throbbing of every fiber of her body was hers. Only hers. But was every fiber hers?

Or _Hers_?

She? Shadow? Voice?

She was an alien in her own dying body. It bled and bled, soaking the ground, as she tossed and writhed in agony on its slick surface.

_But she wasn't dying_!

Gods, but she wanted to. She wanted to return to that place of light and warmth. She wanted to sleep and not _feel_. But _She_ refused. She said _no_. She tormented her for taking away her power, for thwarting her. She punished and punished and punished, and she would not stop.

Not ever.

She would not die. _She_ would never let her die.

And gods, the madness would never end…

Then _he_ was by her side and his cool hand touched her forehead gently. A sigh passed her lips at the contact. Her eyes were open. She saw the ceiling, the fire, the shadows. She saw glorious green eyes - feline. Their color…like tainted Lifestream.

The pain faded, just slightly.

Oh, but it was enough. She wept.

In her world of pain and ugliness, he was beautiful and he was gentle. Eyes and touch, nothing short of heaven.

Black spots invaded her vision and then there was blissful oblivion.


	5. 5

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 5**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

Aeris inhaled, raggedly, the sound moist in her lungs. Dimly, she understood what was happening to her body. Unnatural life fought with nature, within her, as the foreign, life-sustaining blood in her veins was slowly and methodically replaced with her own. The alien's powerful sentient cells worked tirelessly without pause to prevent clotting as his blood clashed with hers. The alien's cells stayed where they were – in her, but not a part of her. Thankfully not melded with her. _She_ didn't want her for a daughter. There was no need to spend such energy merging their cells.

She exhaled, silently sobbing, the sound scratchy in her dry throat. Rejected – and not only by Jenova.

There was only silence, punctuated by sickly breathing. No melody of melancholic peace to soothe her and hold her. No song of hope to cling desperately to as terrible life ravaged her body and mind.

She gasped as another sharp pain shot through her, this time by her thigh. She shifted on the bed, futilely trying to relieve the dull throbbing left in its wake. The bed was warm and soft. It was welcome, though the sheets clung to her bare body where her sweat had dampened it.

She thought it cruel that she should be kept here in Ajit, the Forgotten Capital. But then, where else would he keep her? At that, why was he-

She moaned softly, twisting on the bed again. A slow, churning ache spread within her skull making it impossible to think. Her vision blurred as red spots swam before her eyes.

She inhaled, slowly, meditatively.

And then a cool, dry hand gently brushed her forehead, pushing damp locks of hair away from her skin. He tucked a few stray tendrils behind her ear tenderly before replacing his hand with a moist towel. Methodically, he bathed the clammy skin of her face. She sighed as the pain slowly faded into the periphery of her senses. The cool towel was a blessing against her feverish skin.

The towel lightly brushed closed eyelids, circled down to stroke her cheek and wipe at the line where jaw met neck. He withdrew it and rinsed it in the fresh basin by her bed. It skimmed over the surface of her chin and down the length of yielding throat, across collar bone, to shoulder, to elbow's crevice, to wrist. He stopped there, cradling her delicate hand in one of his as the other returned the towel to the basin.

She exhaled, watching him curiously through tired eyes.

He didn't look at her. The faint mako glow of his irises fixed steadily on her right wrist atop his open palm. A mass of bruises marred her skin there, deep and ugly, hiding dozens of puncture wounds from ungentle hypodermic needles.

It was strange, really. His face was impassive, it had always been so and would always be so, but there seemed to be a hint of…grief almost, in the set of his mouth. He held her hand so carefully, and she could so easily believe in this moment, this exact point in the revolution of time, that he even felt a sort of pain when he regarded her like this.

He moved, so slightly, and she waited. He stroked her wrist with his fingertips, caressing the mottled purple and green area.

She inhaled.

And her eyelids fluttered shut as a warm flood of sensation overcame her.

* * *

She coughed and gasped for air. Droplets of blood clung to her lips and chin.

He silently wiped them away.

_I don't understand,_ she wanted to tell him. Her throat failed her.

His eyes met hers. Brilliant and feline to sickly and earthen.

He took hold of her wrist again, so lightly. The bruises faded, healed by his touch. He raised it towards him, raised it before his face. His eyes never left hers and she watched him, fascinated and unsettled.

He pressed his lips to her skin. They parted slightly, moved slightly, across her veins. His warm breath danced over her.

She exhaled, and slept.

* * *

She'd kicked off the sheets in her sleep, when twisting and writhing, caught in fevered visions and drowned in agony. She shivered and tried to curl her limbs in but they stiffly refused to yield.

But then it no longer mattered. Neither cold nor fever touched her as an excruciating bolt of sensation seemed to electrify her from temple to temple. Stiff arms jerked of their own accord in instinctive, useless gestures of defense. Her palms pressed against her head with almost bruising force, heedless of the damage they caused.

_She_ was speaking to her. _She_ was stronger now, free of the limitations of nearly wordless thought and free to whisper now. Sentences and contemplations came to her, in a sickly sweet, rotting and putrid voice.

_You know that I have won, _She whispered, the words terrible in their very existence.

_You know that you have lost._

Aeris whimpered and curled tighter. Pain blossomed beneath her ribs. She couldn't breathe.

_You know that you are mine. Don't you, child?_

Aeris shook her head

_She_ laughed, and it was so wrong because it was so _beautiful._

And that was worst of all. The creature inside of her, that lived in her body and spoke to her soul, was disgusting and evil and _wrong_, but oh, She could be so incredible all the same. And it was _maddening_. Maddening and confusing and she was always disoriented. Because sometimes She spoke and laughed derisively in her mind and it was terrible. It was painful and ugly, painted in blood and fire. But sometimes She sang lullabies in an alien language that was so sweet and moving that she could have wept for the joy of such sensation. As She sang She would soothe like a mother, petting her tenderly like a dearly beloved infant, and in those moments she found herself wanting it to never end.

But sometimes…sometimes, She would touch her, and that was the worst. More than the taunting and the migraines and the endless visions of torture and destruction, because those things were bad. Clearly and indisputably _bad_. All they brought were misery and misery was blissfully simple. But when She touched her, it was…

There was no body, no skimming fingers, no psychotically seductive voice to stimulate the membrane within her ears. But She had such control of her senses sometimes, in those times, and She played with her, leisurely. A caress here, a gentle whisper, a sudden shock, like electricity, _there,_ and she was breathing heavily, alone in the dark and covering her face with her hands.

And then She would fade into the dark backdrop of her consciousness, silent and distant, leaving her with a _need_ so powerful that she had cried at times, sobbing brokenly into her pillow. She cried for the violation and the depravity, but most of all, she cried for the terrible desire to call out and beg Her to return.

_My beautiful girl, She _whispered in her mind at those thoughts,_ I love you so much. _

She squeezed her eyes shut, all the while knowing that she could not escape from Her. But the voice and the pain retreated then, and the coldness of the room and the soreness of her body flooded back into her awareness.

Footsteps fell. _Him_, her mind registered. She shivered, from cold or something else, she didn't know.

She didn't see him, but she could feel him. She could feel the backs of his fingers that were suddenly warm against her as they brushed against uncovered skin, as he pulled the sheets up over her trembling body.

He covered her carefully, covered her to her neck.

He stroked her brow once, twice, before he turned away to go.

But it was good when he was with her. The shadows were always held at bay when he was by her side, as if they were monsters that were frightened of him. The pain quieted.

He stepped away. One step.

She reached out.

She inhaled sharply at the motion and forced her eyes open. She saw his back, his hair.

Her thin fingers curled around his wrist. Hers was very nearly healed by his work.

He turned, slowly, to glance back at her.

And begged him with her eyes.

* * *

He carefully lifted her with one arm as he placed a few pillows behind her with the other. Beneath her arms, the sheets remained tucked securely and modestly around her chest. He sat by her side on the bed, studied her form for a moment, still unsatisfied with her elevation but unable to move her further. He finally twisted from her to take hold of the bowl of broth by the bed.

She tried to smile at him. For the first time since she'd woken, her eyes glinted, if only slightly.

He grasped the spoon between his fingers and scooped the soup upwards. He raised it to his lips, his gaze fixed on the hot liquid. He blew carefully on the contents of the spoon and shifted both utensil and bowl towards her. The spoon touched her lips and she parted them at the contact. With perfect control, he tilted it towards her, allowing gravity to work.

Some soup trickled down her throat. She coughed. Some trickled down her chin.

He sighed and placed bowl and spoon back on the table by the bed. He wiped the remnants of liquid from her chin, neck, and chest.

He tried again, this time slower, the spoon less full. Again she choked. Again it spilled.

She looked at him apologetically. She closed her eyes in frustration. Hunger gnawed at her and helplessness shamed her.

He rested the still full bowl on his knee as he studied her face, contemplating. His eyes spoke to her now, warm and cold, tender yet cruel. But now he wanted her to accept him and to trust him.

She frowned slightly, not understanding.

He lifted the bowl to his lips, not bothering with the spoon, and drank shallowly of the broth. He leaned in towards her, his face, his lips, mere inches away. Then he consumed her vision entirely and her senses were reduced to the feeling of his lips pressed firmly, against hers.

She opened her mouth. He opened his.

And he continued until the bowl ran dry.

* * *

Aeris sank into the mattress sleepily. The tiniest bit of peace and contentment lived within her now and she clung to it desperately. Her mind gripped it and stretched it, manipulated it so that it would grow and surround her.

The pain was better now. Movement was better now.

He held her hand gently as she drifted in and out of consciousness. His was warm and dry. Rough, but wonderful all the same. The forefinger of his free hand traced abstract patterns on the back of hers. Circles and triangles, letters and characters.

She exhaled, a long, low sigh.

She inhaled, almost easily now.

And she smiled at that. With effort, she opened her eyes briefly to gaze at him before surrendering to sleep once more. She parted her lips to speak with a voice faint and foreign from disuse.

He lifted his eyes from their twined hands to her face. He smiled, so slightly, at her.

And she asked, quickly, before fatigue claimed her, "Why?"


	6. 6

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 6**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

Sephiroth had never answered Aeris's question of course, when she'd asked him why he was being so gentle with her; why he was caring for her. He'd never spoken a word to her at all, in all the days they'd spent together. Instead he would sit with her in silence, watching over her while she slept. And he would feed and heal her.

He left her quite often in those days and she had no idea where he went or what he did. Those periods were the worst. The headaches seemed to last for hours and all she could do was clutch her head and sob dryly. Her body, at least, had mostly healed and was no longer so incapacitated.

But in the aftermath of those painful attacks, she was always left with the feeling that something was missing. She would sit or lie on the bed, silently staring into the flames in the fireplace across the room, and try to think.

She remembered him, of course. She remembered that he had been evil and mad and had caused her friends so much anguish…and she remembered that he had killed her.

_-a blade through her stomach-_

But the images and the feelings were all strangely fuzzy, like paintings made of thick brush daps. The harder she tried to examine them, the more distorted they became until the pressure behind her eyes became so great that she once again gave up and stopped trying to think and remember.

It was so difficult, if not outright impossible, to reconcile _this_ with _then_. He was breathtaking and gentle but he had been cruel and terrible, hadn't he? And wasn't she alive now _because _of…f

Oh, what? _Her?_

Aeris shook her head and rested her chin on top of arms crossed on top of her knees. _She_ was good though, so sweet and loving-

But no, that wasn't right either. _She _was the one that tormented her.

Behind closed eyes she could see the blurred images of a young man with wild blonde hair and a beautiful woman who fought with her fists. There were others too, dear to her but less prominent than those two. A ninja girl and men who were so different from each other…and…a cat? One lion-like creature with a flame-like tail and a _mechanical cat on a mechanical moogle_.

Aeris groaned into her arm. That was ridiculous. A mechanical, fortune-telling cat that fought with a megaphone? Why couldn't she properly remember anything?f

Her bedroom door opened and she looked up to see him in the doorway. Sephiroth, her mind supplied. The man who had carefully taken care of her when she had been completely helpless.

The man who'd killed her?

She looked at him and saw that he was carrying a basin of water and towels in his hands. He walked to the center of the room and gracefully set down the large, metal container. Still holding the other items in one hand, he straightened and held out his gloved left hand, palm facing outwards. A controlled stream of unnatural fire flew from his hand with perfect precision towards the surface of the basin's water, quickly heating it.

He pulled the black leather glove from his hand and reached down to brush the water with his fingers. Satisfied with the temperature, he covered the short distance to her bedside placed the large towel in a folded heap beside her. He handed her the small facecloth.

"Bathe yourself. I will return once you're finished," he said.

She stared at him openly, too shocked to hear him finally speak to her. In the seconds it took to regain her senses, he had already left, quietly shutting the door behind him with a click.

Aeris stared at the cloth in her hands. She ordered her limbs to move and they responded slowly.

In the back of her mind she registered the quality of his voice and smiled absentmindedly at the thought. When he spoke, his voice was low and smooth. His voice…suited him, really.

Her legs uncrossed themselves beneath the sheets and she slid her feet haltingly to the ground. As she stood, the coverings fell away from her body and she was reminded of her nakedness. She assumed her old clothes – whatever they had been – had been destroyed. She thought they used to be pink. Even now, she knew that the color pink was a favorite of hers. Red was too.

But that wasn't important now. Bathing was not going to be easy.

She was very glad that he'd brought her a bath, though. After days of sweat-soaked nightmares, she felt filthy, and no doubt the sheets were the same. As she carefully lowered herself to kneel by the basin, she idly thought that maybe he'd decided a bath was _necessary_. But she felt too sore everywhere to be too embarrassed by the notion.

Carefully, laboriously, she cleansed herself, from her face down to her toes, and it was such a wonderful feeling, to be free from grime after so long. She shifted her position on the floor every few minutes, her limbs quickly cramping from disuse. By the time she finished her ministrations, the water had long turned cold. She stood and wrapped herself in the large towel he'd brought her. She dried herself and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Hours passed by but he didn't return.

Aeris shivered, cold now, with only the towel wrapped snugly around her form. She looked at the crumpled sheets by her body and contemplated cocooning herself in the bed again. But she was clean now and they were dirty, and she suspected that cleanliness would be a rare pleasure for the time being.

Her eyes flicked upwards towards the fireplace. Without a second thought, she stood on still-shaky legs and made her way over the lush throw rug that lay before the mantle. She sat down and drew her legs up towards her, wrapping her arms around them, naturally assuming the protective fetal position.

Where was he, she wondered?

The flames flickered, gradually dying down as the hours continued to pass without any sign of him. It was strange because there was…nothing. The room was perfectly silent, filled with the soft roar of the small fire. Aeris fidgeted uncomfortably. This was so wrong somehow – this stillness.

The room itself was dull. Though perfectly preserved as befitting the mystical Ancient city, it seemed so utilitarian to her, filled with only the basic furniture with nothing of the slightest interest.

With a start, Aeris realized that she was _bored_ and it was shocking because she couldn't remember at all the last time she had felt restless and in need of a distraction. Her memories were a confusing mess of pictures and emotions, but they hinted at excitement all the same.

She turned her thoughts inward; there was no external stimulation to be had. But memory was too elusive to try and grasp.

_There was a purpose to all this, wasn't there? _She asked herself with a slight frown. In front of her the flames danced prettily and a long moment passed by while she lost herself in them. She tried to recall, searching for answers in the fire, but just as she couldn't quite grasp the image of the blonde-haired boy, this escaped her too.

_He killed me,_ she tried to remind herself with a certainty she couldn't manage to believe in. _So then I must have been dead._

That was odd, wasn't it? If she had been dead, then she should still be dead. But she was very much alive, unless of course, this was all some sort of hallucination. Or worse, what if this was her hell?

_No, that can't be right, _she chided herself, _I was a good person in life. I wouldn't have gone to hell._

_I was, wasn't I…?_

She thought so.

_Self-flattery, huh, Aeris?_

She pouted at the fire. It wasn't just that.

_I think I would have gone to the Promised Land._

She paused for a moment in her thoughts. _Promised Land?_

_But then I was brought back to life. Yes, _she nodded to herself, _that's it. I _was_ revived._

But that couldn't be normal.

She _brought me back, didn't She?_

Aeris shook her head, futilely trying to clear it.

_Yes, She brought you back to life, and back when you were alive in the first place, you used to be friends with a robotic cat that sat on a robotic moogle that killed monsters with a megaphone. And now, you're being taken care of by a man that's as gorgeous as he is scary._

She checked herself there. That was interesting thought.

In the background of the fire, she pictured him, face and body. He was quite the piece of work, she admitted, contemplating the mental image she'd conjured. He had a body that any man would be jealous of, and long, silver hair that any woman would envy. Yet there was something…wrong…about him.

_He looks…_she struggled to find the words_…a little demonic._

She wasn't sure if that was accurate. It was so faint and he seemed so, well, _sweet_, she thought with a small twist of her lips. He never smiled at her, had just talked to her today for the first time, but he _was_ charming nonetheless. Sometimes in the way that he touched her-

Aeris blushed. Not that he'd really touched her, except for that time he'd drawn the sheets over her body. But there was his mouth to consider…

_Stop it, _she ordered herself.

She wondered where he was now. Her stomach growled softly, causing her eyes to glance downwards in that direction. She almost groaned out loud at the sound and the realization that she couldn't even remember when she'd last eaten anything. The countless hours of nothingness and now boredom made her press her lips together in both irritation and worry.

_He is coming back, isn't he? _She asked herself rhetorically.

But she supposed, at that, that she should be thankful for the boredom. Stagnancy was a blessing, really, as her days lately had been filled with shearing headaches and terrible screams from every part of her body.

_I guess then, that I'm glad that it's so peaceful._

But, somehow, it wasn't peace at all. It was foreign and so, so empty, and for some reason she swore that this was wrong. She felt fragmented, and there was no true peace when the self wasn't whole. Like something should have been filling the silence that was no longer there, ripped away, locked away, taken away away away from her.

A red flash tore across her head, behind her eyelids, and she gasped and clutched at her face. Her hands hid her face from outside view and it was such a useless gesture, but so innate all the same. As though she could, just this once, somehow escape the pain that threatened to come crashing down full force at any-

It crashed then.

And she was on the floor. She gasped and writhed and the rough texture of the carpeting beneath her burned against her skin, but she didn't notice. She fought it though, fought it with all of the willpower she could drag upwards within herself. She threw her conscious mind against the assault, not wanting to give in to the torture so willingly as she had many times before. Beads of sweat gathered at her hairline, above her lip, in the crevice between her breasts.

If it was real – physical – she could fight it. She knew how. Aeris curled around herself protectively and envisioned the _thing_ that was clawing at her psyche. She could almost feel the smooth, strong metal of her fighting staff beneath her palms; could almost see the beautiful glow of materia orbs slotted into the length of the weapon. She had neither magic nor steel in hand, but she pushed against _it_ all the same.

Time passed without meaning as the metaphysical battle raged inside her own body. Mere minutes might have passed, or hours, or days. For Aeris, it was all eternity as agony bled into agony and resistance met with unyielding bonds.

* * *

She woke up in his arms.

A small sigh of contentment escaped her lips. In the half-sentient state, she squirmed slightly, unaware that she was trying to snuggle deeper into him. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was open her eyes, but with regret, she slowly forced them open and took a few seconds to orient herself.

He was sitting on the bed – and the sheets appeared to have been changed – propped up against the headboard by the pillows. She lay between his sprawled legs with a separate sheet secured modestly around her body. Her head was pillowed in the crook of his neck; she could see the fine texture of his skin after she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. Her arm was wrapped around his side and the other hand rested lightly against the center of his chest.

His decidedly bare chest.

Even in her disoriented state, she was aware enough to blush at the situation. Though he was still clothed in his close-fitting black pants, it was all more intimate than she was prepared to deal with. She shifted her head slightly and noticed that his boots and gloves had been discarded. He was lying with her, barefoot, and it lent him a strange air of, well, vulnerability, she supposed.

And he was stroking the skin of her shoulder lightly, absent-mindedly. She stilled herself, waiting for a reaction from him to signal that he knew she was awake. It never came and he simply continued to touch her with perfect familiarity, his bare fingers occasionally traveling further to brush the line of her collarbone.

It was wrong. Even in all her dazed uncertainty about absolutely everything, she knew that this was wrong. Aeris tried to command her body to move, to protest, but it did neither. It was content to lie on him as it was. Oh, who was she kidding? _She_ was content to lie on him just as she was.

His voice interrupted her conflicting thoughts, and she found herself glad for the distraction. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

With a well-timed growl from her stomach, Aeris remembered that she had been hungry for quite some time now. Since even before the last assault on her mind. Embarrassed, she turned her face deeper into his neck, hiding in the fall of his hair.

"Yes," she answered tentatively, "I am, a bit." Her voice was still too quiet and rough from disuse. Privately, she thought it was more than a bit unfair that he not only had prettier hair than she did, but a nicer voice at the moment.

And the thought was so _utterly_ irrational, especially at a time like this, that she mentally shook herself at it. _What's wrong with me, _she wondered? She tried to focus on all the things that were important – and there were so many – but always her thoughts were disrupted and would quickly fall to pieces around her.

At the moment, she was distracted by the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers, warm and smooth as it was. Carefully, she pushed against his chest. His body was unyielding under her hand.

With effort, she shifted her torso slightly so that she could look at his face. His mako-enhanced eyes returned her gaze silently; his expression never changed. Not for the first time, she found herself drawn to the eerie pupils of his eyes – thin, feline slits. It was unnatural, uncanny, but fascinating, perhaps for exactly those reasons. She wondered why his pupils were so different from the norm, and a distant part of her seemed to know the answer.

Her gaze dropped lower, over the smooth planes of his face and the clean structure of his jaw. He was…attractive…and it was terrible. She didn't want it-

did she?

-knew on some level that she should have been horrified with herself.

Because he had killed her?

Perhaps. Likely. Or for some other reason. Wasn't he a complete stranger?

But he had been so patient with her. He had so readily, inch by slow inch, healed her and brought her back to some measure of health.

But why would he do that? Why did he hold her like this?

And he had skillfully, time and again, chased away the terrifying shadows and screaming, psychotic voices. She didn't know how, and worse still she didn't know why, but she knew that he _did_. She knew that if offered the choice, she would gladly beg him to stay with her day and night, because each moment he spent away from her carried an awful threat. The monsters beneath her bed were real and no amount of optimism or disbelief or light could push them away.

In that moment, Aeris quietly wondered if maybe she was the one who was mad. But crazy people didn't realize that they were crazy, right? She fervently hoped that the fact that the matter worried her was proof enough that she was still sane.

Still, she wondered, was it possible that she'd always been like this? Was it possible that she had been sick for quite some time, and that he'd always cared for her like this? Was he the lover she couldn't quite recall from memories struck with incomplete amnesia?

But there had been a sword, and there had been blood and pain, while the light had faded steadily to the sound of voices screaming her name.

Or had she imagined all that?

She didn't know. There was little she knew these days, but she knew that he was safe and warm and good to her.

And yet a part of her was terrified of him. It quickened her pulse. Altered her breathing.

Aeris groaned out loud, squeezing her eyes shut at that. She twisted her head to the side so that her hair cascaded down to shield her face from him.

He moved beneath her and she started at the sudden touch of his hand on hers. Calloused fingers grasped her much-smaller hand and brought it upwards. She froze. The sensation of his lips against her knuckles shocked her and brought her back to all the times he'd pressed his lips against hers. Not quite kisses, their purposes having been too functional and not romantic. All the times she'd drank from his lips…

She was breathing harder.

And somehow, she doubted that he would choose to have her eat on her own. Even after she'd regained some of her strength, he'd continued to feed her various broths with his mouth. She wondered if he simply enjoyed it. She certainly couldn't complain.

He released her hand to reach over to the bedside and returned with a precisely-cut, bite-sized piece of a sandwich. Lettuce and cold cuts lay between the small, thick slices of bread in his grasp. Wordlessly, he placed the morsel against her lips and she obligingly opened her mouth to accept the food he offered her. In the comfortable silence, she chewed without looking at him.

"You're recovering nicely," he said softly. His lips hovered just over her forehead. "You should be strong enough to walk in a few more days."

"I'd like that," she responded, tentatively. "To go for a walk." His fingers fed her another piece of sandwich and she savored it. As she ate, he gently stroked the hair of her bangs away from her face, tucking the stray tendrils behind her ears.

"I'll take you," he told her.

She tilted her head to smile up at him, genuinely happy at his promise. The prospect of getting out of the small, stifling room excited her. He turned to smile back, just a faint upwards twist of the lips. It was shocking and she was sure that her face betrayed her surprise, but she didn't care. He was beautiful when he smiled and she couldn't help but wonder what he looked like when he _really _smiled. Did it ever touch his eyes?

Within minutes, the sandwich he'd prepared was finished and he produced a single glass of red wine.

"A celebration," he whispered, "To your health."

In the light of the fire – she noticed it had been fed – glints of orange and yellow sparkled in the velvet red of the wine. She watched the glass, sleepily entranced. Even the crystal it had been cut out of seemed to dance in the flickering firelight with flashes of blue and green.

She tipped her head backwards expectantly. He didn't disappoint her. He took a slow sip and brought his mouth to cover hers. Their lips parted and the drink poured onto her tongue. It was rich and sweet, sharp in its flavor. At the taste, she thought she would be quickly intoxicated. She felt lightheaded.

"Why do you do this?" she whispered.

"Why do you think?" he asked back. A glimmer of amusement lurked beyond the feline pupils. He reached towards her and lightly traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertips.

Their eyes never left each other as he repeated the motion. Her eyelids felt strangely heavy but she didn't shut them. Not knowing why, she studied him carefully in the quiet moment.

He took her hand again. Brought her fingers to his lips. They parted, just a fraction, so that her fingertips slipped deeper into him. He pressed his lips together, sealing a kiss on her digits.

She inhaled unsteadily.

The mako glow of his eyes flared.

Then his mouth was on hers again. She drank from his mouth, giving no hint of wanting to stop. He faded in and out in front of her eyes for an instant. The heady drink made her feel strange. She nearly giggled. But then his lips were caressing her brow and tracing the curves of her cheek. She shivered. Her eyelids drifted shut but he pulled away all too soon.

It was bizarre, feeling so comfortable and languid with this stranger that she might have loved or might have hated. He was a man who might have been her mortal enemy but was her savior all the same. He was dark and enigmatic, but beautiful and powerful, and whatever else he was, she knew that she was _content_ here with him.

From between the edges of the sheet that was wrapped around her body, one leg pushed further outside of the loose cocoon to brush against his. The buttery texture of his leather pants was soft against her too-pale calf. It felt so natural to reach out for him like this – to hook her leg around his and pull him just a little closer.

She drank the rest of the wine from his lips.

When she moved her head to look at him, the room tilted unexpectedly.

Her thoughts were fuzzy. She felt herself squint slightly at him. She felt too warm in his embrace.

In her giddy state, she barely noticed when he put the glass away and nudged the empty plate further from them. He grasped her around the waist and twisted himself from beneath her. She found herself lying on her back and he hovered just inches above her. Aeris held her breath at the expression in his eyes. His pupils were dilated. She felt flushed and dizzy and it would have been too easy to succumb and let her eyelids drift softly shut.

And then he was kissing her – just the barest of caresses of his lips against hers. His pants brushed against the exposed flesh of her leg, against the curve of her calf and the crevice of her knee. Her legs shifted slightly apart of their own accord; the sheets slid slightly higher on her thigh. The tip of his tongue slowly traced her lower lip, still too light, causing a small sound of desperation to escape from her mouth. Her lips parted just a little further, beckoning, but he showed no signs of noticing. With one arm propping himself up, the fingers of his free hand grazed the column of her neck. She arched backwards at the touch, welcoming it and offering herself up for more.

Emboldened by the wine, she wrapped her own arms around the expanse of his body, greedily taking in the texture of him. His body was hard beneath her touch, but covered in surprisingly delicate skin. She could trace the shape of each muscle in his back, clearly defined as they were.

But she wanted him to kiss her – _really _wanted to be kissed. The bare contact of his tongue against her lip was maddening. She tried to push the kiss further, tried to dance with his mouth, but before she could, he pulled away. She would never know how she had understood the expression on his face, the chastisement, but instinctively she knew that he would not accept such actions from her.

She frowned at him. He paid her disappointment no heed.

He bent down towards her again, and with breathless anticipation she hoped he would continue. But he turned aside to nuzzle at her neck, raining open-mouthed kisses there. His hot breath tickled her skin and then he gently bit her – not hard enough to hurt or mark her, just enough to elicit the reaction he wanted. She moaned at the lengthy assault on her neck. The leg that she'd wrapped around his contracted in an effort to pull him closer.

He returned his mouth to hers with soft, dry kisses. She trembled as his fingers brushed her collarbone and swept across her chest to the edge of the sheet that covered her. He pushed the material down, just a little, to caress the upper curve of her breast. She trembled at the touch and gasped. Her nerves wound tighter and the sensations shot from his touch downwards to her center. Her fingers reflexively tightened their grasp on his body.

His lips parted and he was so close –

Then suddenly he was gone and the loss of his heat shocked her into opening her eyes. She blinked in confusion and the room tilted again before her vision cleared to reveal him standing by the bed, facing the fireplace. He bent to fix his boots onto his feet and retrieved his coat from the ground. He quickly encased himself in it, finally snapping the center clasp shut at his waist. His hand reached out and took hold of the gloves that lay on the bedside table.

He looked back at her before opening the door. His face told her absolutely nothing.

"Sleep," he said to her softly, before turning firmly and shutting the door behind him.


	7. 7

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 7**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

Aeris floated in a sea of black nothingness. She looked around, spun to the side in a jerky motion, trying to understand the dreamscape she was trapped in. Her eyes glanced up and down and she spun and spun and spun. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her body for warmth, though it wasn't quite cold.

"Hello?" she called. She walked forward one step. Her hand absently rubbed at her upper arm. "Is anyone there?"

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to force herself out of the hallucination and back into the real world. Nothing happened and not even the air (was there even air?) stirred in the minutes that passed. With a sigh, she gave up and sat down on the floor beneath her that wasn't a floor at all.

"I'm dreaming," she told herself firmly. "I know this is just a dream. It's nothing."

A voice whispered to her from the void behind her. _My beautiful daughter…_

Aeris was on her feet in a fraction of a second at the sound. She whipped around to face the direction that the voice had spoken from.

"Mom?" She asked the darkness tentatively. The voice had sounded exactly like Ifalna. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. It had been so, so long since she'd heard that voice.

_Aeris._

She ran, blindly, not knowing where she was going.

"Mom, where are you?" She cried out. Her head snapped from side to side. She tried to remind herself that none of this was real, but somehow, even the knowledge of that didn't help.

_Oh, Aeris. Silly girl, don't you know? I've always been with you._

A single tear trickled down Aeris's cheek at that. "I know. I know, but I've missed you so much."

_I've missed you too, my baby, _Ifalna whispered.

"Why can't I see you?" Aeris asked. At that moment, she would have given anything to be safely held within the arms of her mother. "Oh Mom, you have no idea how bad it's been…"

_I know, baby. It's hurt me very much to watch you suffer like that. _She paused a beat before continuing. _And you can't see me because…well, Aeris, you don't want it enough._

"What?" Aeris exclaimed in surprise. "How can you say that? I _do_ want to see you, Mom. Please, where are you?"

_Try harder, baby. I know you can do it._

Aeris took a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes. With great control, she brought an image of her mother to the forefront of her mind, just as she appeared all those years ago – before the escape from the labs, and before she lay dying on the filthy floor of the Sector 7 train station. She was young and beautiful and vibrant. Her long chestnut hair spilled down over her shoulders in rich waves, partially covering the raspberry-hued dress she wore. Green eyes, identical to Aeris's, sparkled with secret laughter.

She poured all of her desperation into the image, bringing it to life with the sheer force of her need. It was an opportunity that would never again present itself, and she would not let it slip through her fingers. In all the horror and confusion that had been her life since her…rebirth? This moment was too precious.

Aeris's eyes flew open as she felt a soft hand against her cheek.

"Mom…" She started, failing to find the words she wanted to say.

Ifalna stood before her just as she'd always appeared in Aeris's memories, lovely and warm. They stood toe to toe, with Ifalna's arm outstretched to gently touch Aeris's face.

"That's my girl," Ifalna said, her voice more real now than it had been moments before. "You've always been so strong, Aeris. So brave."

"Oh, Mom," Aeris sobbed brokenly. She flung herself into Ifalna's welcoming arms. "I don't feel brave or strong."

Ifalna held her child tenderly and stroked her hair to comfort the girl. "Come, sit with me, love," she said.

She slowly lowered herself to her knees and then folded her legs beneath her. Aeris sat with her and curled up within her embrace. Her arms were locked around her mother's waist while she rested her head against her shoulder. Ifalna held her daughter for a long moment in silence.

"Talk to me, Aeris," Ifalna quietly said. "I know you're hurt."

Aeris nodded and held her mother tighter. She burrowed her face into her shoulder. "It's been so horrible, Mom. It hurts so much, and when it doesn't hurt, it's so confusing…"

"Mmm," Ifalna replied. "Who hurts you?"

"_She_ does," Aeris answered. She knew as she spoke the words how strange they sounded.

"She?" Ifalna asked.

Aeris bit down on her lower lip. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I think She's 'The Crisis,' but I'm not sure what the Crisis is anymore. And sometimes she's 'Mother,'" she shook her head dazedly.

"And She hurts you?"

Aeris nodded. "She makes everything hurt. And I think She's stealing my memories."

Ifalna regarded her daughter thoughtfully. "Is that all She does? Hurt you?"

Aeris didn't answer for a long moment. Ifalna gently nudged the daughter in her arms.

"No."

Ifalna smiled sadly but there was an odd glint in her cypress-green eyes. "What else does She do?"

Aeris fidgeted before responding. "She…sings to me sometimes…"

Ifalna pressed her cheek lightly against the top of her daughter's head. "Is that what confuses you?" she asked.

Aeris shook her head. "There's so much more. Nothing makes sense, Mom! She's so ugly, but so beautiful. And he's like that too…"

"He is very beautiful, isn't he?"

Aeris drew back slightly to study the familiar face of her mother with a frown. "He is," she agreed cautiously.

Ifalna smiled. "Don't be so shocked, my love," she said. "You know Sephiroth and I knew each other in Hojo's lab, right?"

"I guess," Aeris replied. She settled herself back against her mother's shoulder.

"Now," Ifalna probed, "What aren't you telling me? There's something you're hiding."

Silently, Aeris acknowledged that there were many things that she hadn't told Ifalna – many things that she was hiding and would continue to hide. It was easier, safer, that way.

"What else does Jenova do to you, my child?"

A pervading feeling of _wrongness_ settled in Aeris's belly, gradually replacing her initial happy relief at being able to talk to her mother again. "What do you mean?" she asked tentatively.

"Aeris," Ifalna said with the long-suffering patience of all parents, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me." She gently nuzzled Aeris's cheek.

Aeris felt her body stiffen in response. Her breathing turned shallow. "I thought you said you were watching me."

"I have been," Ifalna said. "But that doesn't mean I know everything."

"What do you want to know?" Aeris asked.

Ifalna replied slowly, "What does Jenova do to you?"

And suddenly Aeris's world tumbled and crashed and fell all around her in shattered pieces as she found herself still in her mother's arms, but with warm, soft lips on the column of her neck. She gasped in utter shock and scrambled to get away, but hidden muscles like steel bands held her in place.

"Mom…what-?"

"Oh Aeris, I've missed you so much," Ifalna said, her voice filled with such tenderness. "My beautiful girl…I love you so."

Aeris reeled at the words. She opened her mouth to cry out in horror but choked instead. _My beautiful girl…_It was Her. The demon that had never truly ceased to torment her. Tears flooded her eyes at the realization and she renewed her struggles.

"No! Let me go!" Aeris exclaimed. "Please…"

But Ifalna's lips were on her neck again, kissing her softly. She felt something warm and moist brush across her skin there and screamed at the realization that it was her tongue. One hand had left its place on Aeris's back to trail a caressing line down to her ankle. Her eyes, wide open in absolute horror, stared into heavy-lidded eyes that were identical to her own. It was almost like looking into a mirror. She felt a part of herself die in that moment.

Ifalna's hand stroked the exposed skin of her lower leg with loving reverence. Her hand moved slowly upwards until it brushed against the hem of Aeris's pink dress.

Aeris squeezed her eyes shut in desperation. _She's not Mom. It's not Mom! _She screamed at herself. But the woman who held her was _so_ perfect, in voice and appearance, it hardly mattered. _Jenova, this is Jenova! The Crisis…_

She clamped her teeth down hard on her lower lip. The pain did little to change anything.

Because the most horrifying thing of all was not her that her _mother_ was doing _this_ to her, but that she was _responding._

No no _no._

Aeris burst into tears, sobbing in absolute brokenness. The dreamscape did nothing to lessen the horror of the situation. Then she was on her back and dazed as she lay in the arms of the creature. It was cold and wet to the touch, the alien substances that coated its flesh soaking through her dress and into her skin. Tentacles circled her and clamped down, piercing her skin, making her bleed, and all she could see through blurred eyes was scarred, putrid, inhuman flesh and she cried and cried and cried.

* * *

She's breathing. Steadily.

Above, she sees him looking down at her. He's concerned.

He asks her if she's okay, and hesitantly, she replies that she will be, in a few more minutes.

He is holding her in a sea of white; the dreamscape has shifted, and in the comforting embrace of his strong arms she cries in relief. He just holds her patiently, like a long-known lover curled upon his lap. He neither speaks nor moves – a perfect statue, but yielding and human all the same.

And perhaps that's why, in some ways, she feels in this moment, maybe she already loves him. Not truly, not purely, but in scattered pieces of faulty logic and absolute irrationality. But, perhaps, that's alright, if only for this moment, locked in the endless white of the dream.

She notices that the brightness reflects off of the curtain of his hair, illuminating him. She rather thinks that he looks the sublime angel here, though still something in his face and eyes shows him for the fallen creature that he is. He is a study in contrasts, and beautiful through it all – both haloed in holy light and wrapped in black that reflects nothing. And that is strange, isn't it? That light seems to disappear within the folds of his clothing?

But he's flying, soaring upwards, cradling her against his body. She wraps her arms around his neck instinctively. Still sniffling, she opens her eyes and cautiously turns her head to take in the view beyond him. Endless blue skies filled with soft, downy clouds surround them. In the distance, a mountain summit materializes from the mist as the clouds part. Its sharp, clean peak is snowy and it's strangely lovely in its sterility.

The air stirs gently around them as he remains in place, levitating many miles away from the mountaintop.

"Isn't it beautiful?" He asks her.

"It is," she whispers back without hesitation.

He nods at her and with a smile – it is dazzling in its joy, so rare, she doesn't think she's ever seen it. Surely she would remember if he had looked at her with such an expression before – he takes off again, carefully carrying them over to the very tip of the icy mountain. Their feet slowly touch the ground beneath them; their boots sink slightly in the fresh, untouched snow.

"Why isn't it cold?" she asks him.

He tells her that the land is enchanted.

"This could be our new home," he says, and he speaks of their glorious future. "There will be no evil nor corruption nor greed. The land will live in perfect harmony with the people, as it was always meant to be."

She thinks that sounds nice, and tells him so.

They lay together in the fresh snow. It doesn't melt; is not cold to the touch. She spreads her limbs wide and sweeps them from side to side to make a snow angel. When she shows him her work, he favors her with another smile and hugs her tightly.

And she weeps.

Concerned, he continues to hold her. Wrapped in such an embrace, she cries all the harder.

"Why?" She asks him.

"Why do you think?" He asks her back.

"Do you love me?" She wants to know, without any idea why she would ask such a question.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Do you love _me_?" He parrots.

She tells him that she doesn't know. There isn't much she seems to know these days. She quietly says that in some ways, maybe, she does. In some ways…but what does that mean?

He rubs her back up and down in long, steady strokes. He tells her that he understands, and that it is okay.

"But what's okay?" She wants to know. "And what happens now?"

"Everything's okay," he says to her, "Or at least it will be." He promises her that he won't let the Crisis keep hurting her.

She asks him if he's saying he'll protect her.

"Haven't I been doing that all along?" he asks her.

He isn't bound to her; has no reason to take care of her at all. But he has and he does and at that she holds him tighter, not wanting to let him go.

"Please don't leave me," she begs of him brokenly. She knows that she has never been afraid of the dark before, and has never been afraid to be alone, but now, now things are different and she is terrified of both.

"Never," he tells her, placing a tender kiss upon her forehead.

She doesn't know him and he doesn't know her and perhaps neither knows what they are doing here, but it feels right and good and safe so she surrenders herself to it – to him. For now she is content to ignore the faint whispers in the very deepest parts of her mind that speak of ugliness and death. There is only beauty in this moment, as two solitary creatures hold each other in the midst of warm snow and white sunshine. He is her knight and her angel and it's simply _good_ to not have to be strong, if just for this moment.

It's wonderful to relax and to trust and believe in blissful eternity. And she wants to believe.

"What are we going to do?" she asks of him. "This is just a dream. The world…"

His breath is hot against the shell of her ear as he whispers to her. "Soon our world will be every bit as beautiful as this place. I'm working hard to make it so."

She thinks that sounds lovely and arches her back so that she can look up at him and smile with genuine happiness. He is dazzling here, like this. The dark smudges that usually mar his too-pale skin are nowhere to be seen, as if the incredible land itself is enough to take away all his stress and sleeplessness.

A part of her wants to think that maybe, it even has something to do with her.

But he's nibbling on her earlobe now so she stops thinking altogether. His lips and teeth are gentle on her skin, and when he exhales the warm air tickles her deliciously. She squirms slightly in his arms and even moans softly without realizing.

Then he takes her hand and brushes her fingertips against his lips. His feline eyes shine intensely and she thinks to herself that she has never been so enthralled by anything or anyone before. He is matchless in every way, the perfect lord for this perfect, illusory mountain. She imagines that in the real world he is a strange misfit, and for that reason exactly, he belongs here as much as the un-cold snow.

But then…does she belong here?

He's kissing her everywhere, her brow, her cheeks, her jaw. He is soft and hard and so intoxicating through it all that her head rolls back and her neck arches towards him. She presses herself against him. Her breasts brush against the leather of his coat.

She wonders why he never truly kisses her, but doesn't ask. She knows that he would only ask her the same. So silently, she asks herself that question as he slowly, slowly seduces her. And the answer is as simple as it is complex and intangible, just as everything seems to be now in her life and in her dreams.

She is afraid.

Strange, as she is afraid of many things now, but she has never really feared him. But then, it isn't really him she's scared of in this instance, but herself. She wants him – needs him – to be the one to kiss her and cradle her and seduce her.

Because she needs to know that he is choosing this all on his own. That he is choosing her.

She wonders why she worries about such a thing, but she has always known. There had been another but she couldn't quite remember. She had been an old friend, so dearly loved, and there had been such perfect peace and communion between them. So many long, quiet conversations. Perhaps, even, in those days, they had never ceased to talk. But that was a strange notion, too impractical to be truth.

But her friend had left her, so alone, rejected and pushed away.

Perhaps that is why it always seems so cold now, even when she's warm. Or perhaps she is confusing herself again.

He's real enough though. Sometimes she feels like he's the only real thing that ever existed – the only real thing she ever knew. And she thinks, silently, that maybe he too loves her in an incomplete but desperate way, and maybe he even needs her and she just doesn't know why.

Or maybe she is just dreaming and those feelings are as insubstantial as the dreamscape they stand in.

But he's still kissing her so she thinks that maybe none of that matters at all and silences herself so that she might enjoy his actions fully. Because he is good at everything he does and he is delicious against her lips. He holds her just so as she clings to him like a drowning woman and he smiles at her knowingly without judgment and for a moment she feels as if she might cry again and again.

His lips hover above hers so she holds her breath with anticipation. She thinks he might finally kiss her – really and truly kiss her – and she prays silently that she is right because, heavens above, she wants him to. He is so close and she is so lost in him.

So she holds herself still, and she waits.

* * *

She was lying in a field of flowers.

She blinked, twice, in confusion, certain that this wasn't quite right. Hadn't she been with…?

"'Morning, sunshine," A familiar voice said from beside her.

She turned with a gasp of surprise, lifting herself slightly so that she was propped up on her elbow. Wild black hair framed a face with startlingly blue eyes and a charming, easy smile. It was a smile he had often showered on her in the past, and an expression that she had always treasured, even five years after she'd last seen him – when he'd left for Nibelheim.

"Zack…"

His smile widened; sunlight glinted off his straight, white teeth. "Good to see you still remember me."

She frowned at him slightly, wondering why he would say such a thing. "Of course I remember you, Zack."

"I don't know, Rissa," he said. He reached over to her and ruffled her loose hair playfully. "You've been kinda out of it lately."

Aeris's fingers busied themselves, playing with a long blade of grass by her elbow. She looked down at the ground without really seeing it.

"I know," she told him. "I'm forgetting something, aren't I?"

He laughed at that and it was a nice sound to her ears, hearty and without dark taint. "Ris, you have no idea."

"Tell me then, Zack," she pleaded. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she couldn't – didn't feel like it would be appropriate.

"Not much to tell, really. It's your story after all. All you gotta do is remember." He paused, thinking. "But I'll give you a hint to get started. There's a man down there who loves you, y'know, Cloud? Head looks kinda like a chocobo, real cute kid. He's trying to find you right now, actually."

Aeris's frown deepened at that and her brow furrowed. "Why is he trying to find me?"

Zack leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "That, love, you already know." He stood up in a fluid motion, his hair swaying slightly in the breeze. "Go on now, Ris. You've got a lot to think about, and this isn't the best place to do it. Too weird."

And then he was gone and she was blinking, finally awake.

* * *

Aeris shot up in bed only to double over at the screaming of her unyielding muscles. Her hands shakily came to her face, feeling the frozen lines of shock and horror on her features. Sweat beaded on her brow, above her lip. Her hands were clammy and cold and her back hurt terribly, but she noticed nothing.

Because _he_ had killed her.

And _She_ haddone all this to her.

That meant that he, he who promised to protect her, who was gentle and kind and _loving_, was responsible for all this

-she choked-

in order to strike at _Cloud_ and destroy the _world_, and make himself a _god_.

But worst of all wasn't him, wasn't him at all, but she, Aeris, and all that she felt and continued to feel towards a madman and murderer and creature of evil.

And because she had cried so much already, too much, in the maelstrom of emotions she didn't weep or break or crumble.

No.

She screamed.

AN: To my beta readers, **shetan83 **and **VenusBlade,** all I can say is thank you for being timely, even when I can't even manage it.


	8. 8

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 8**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

A thousand overwhelming emotions assaulted Aeris at once. She didn't know how long she had sat there, locked in her own thoughts, completely oblivious to the world.

Horror and disgust and shame and desperation crested in violent, roiling waves all around her – so much so that she may have stayed there, paralyzed, for endless hours.

There was revulsion; violation. She recalled her dreams with perfect clarity just as she suddenly remembered everything else, all those vital events and details, all too late. She had seen her mother – no, Jenova – had spoken with her, and then…

Aeris trembled with her head clutched tightly between her hands. She couldn't bring herself to think about it at all. Every time the pictures appeared in her mind, she firmly, brutally, shoved them away. She hated Jenova all the more for this, for corrupting even the memory of her mother, Ifalna. She prayed fervently that it would fade with time. Time cured all things, didn't it? It wouldn't always be like this…

But she was so completely alone and that made it all the harder. Ever since her twisted rebirth, she had known that something was missing. She'd known that the strange silence was wrong and left her incomplete. Now she understood. The Planet had left her - her connection with Gaia's voice was firmly severed. The Jenova cells within her, the only thing keeping her body alive, also kept the Planet from her.

And that itself was so, so revolting, it ate at her soul and made her want to retch. The Calamity, the treacherous plague of the world, _lived_ within her and used her and _caressed _her in all possible ways. She felt abused and unclean, soiled from the inside. She was unnatural – an abomination that sullied the face of the Planet.

The wild, irrational urge to scrub herself, maybe throw herself onto the flickering flames in the fireplace, bubbled up within her. Furious, she swallowed and shoved the feelings down, refusing to allow them to control her.

So the Crisis lived in her, was intimate in all meanings of the word with her, but what did it really matter? She had been given a choice and she had chosen to come into the very center of the gathering evil. She had known all along the dangers…

But she _hadn't_. She had never truly grasped the full consequences of this last, final mission. She had never known it would be this difficult.

And she'd never expected Sephiroth to do all that he'd done with her. Oh, he'd played his cards brilliantly, with perfect precision. She knew he was evil, knew he'd driven several feet of cold steel through her belly. He'd tried and very nearly succeeded in driving Cloud insane and again and again he attempted to rob the entire world of spirit energy, life and all of creation be damned.

He was sick and evil and manipulating her. But a part of her still refused to believe that.

A part of her was fascinated by the unknown depths the other side of existence held and hid from her.

Aeris thought that was perhaps the single worst feeling in all of life – knowing he had deliberately spent so many days _conditioning_ her, yet still she was held in his thrall. He had so constantly and steadily taken care of her, nurturing her step by step back to health; whatever health even meant now. She cursed her humanity, her irrational, emotional weakness that so carefully bound her to him as the saved are bound to their saviors.

_He didn't save me, _she thought to herself.None _of that was real._

And that _hurt_ in a way that physical pain and mental torment couldn't quite compare to. They were short and sharp, terrible but fleeting. This was like a slow, low burn; a throbbing of despair in her chest.

He was beautiful and tragic in spite of all his wicked madness. Perhaps, such things shone all the brighter for the fact that they still managed to shine through the anger that cloaked him. In all the times he'd held her in silence and so, so carefully nursed her to health. And she knew now a side of him that possibly no one else had ever seen nor felt. The tenderness had been a charade, the warmth a carefully played game, but still, still, no actor was so skilled that he could pretend to be something that didn't, somewhere, exist in his soul.

So she despised him for everything he was and everything he'd done and would continue to do. But she wanted him all the same for everything he had shown her in this quiet room.

And at that she wanted to scream again and bury her head beneath the pillows. She never wanted anyone to see her face again. Because, heavens above what would _Cloud _and _Tifa_ and all the others think?

She prayed that they were safe and well. All those times that Sephiroth had left her, had he been fighting them? Or tormenting them in some way? And Cloud – his Geostigma – had he already fallen?

She had so many question and absolutely no answers. Did they even know that Sephiroth had returned? Did they know that she was alive and with him? Would they come for her?

Aeris didn't know if she wanted them to. But did she not want them to?

She loved her friends – absolutely and without question…that was why Sephiroth was doing this, wasn't it? Of course. What other reason did he have? He was using her to strike at those that she loved, and worse, she was allowing it to happen.

And Zack…

Aeris wanted to die. He had seen everything; would see everything to come. It meant that he was still watching over her, maybe even keeping her safe to some extent. She knew he wouldn't – didn't – hold her at fault for anything. He would never blame her for this, would never think less of her. But still, the guilt ate at her and weighed down on her shoulders so heavily that she sank back into the bed limply.

Even if Zack understood, that didn't mean that Cloud would.

Cloud – where was he? Her handsome blonde bodyguard had been so much like Zack that sometimes, it had hurt to even look at him. Zack, SOLDIER first class, who'd never returned to her because of all the terrible things that happened at Sephiroth's hands.

Death…she contemplated death…that which in and of itself was terrible for the living creature. But the life beyond, the still-sentient existence of the Cetra in their Promised Land, that had been nothing short of bliss. Existence was perfect and it was from there that she had come, to this – this place where she was alone save a man who confused her beyond all reason and a virus that was mad and sadistic beyond anything Gaia had ever seen.

The Crisis thrilled in toying with her. It loved to play and control and dance within the pain of its victims. She – It – wrapped silken tendrils around her mind, always so deceptively soft and delicate, soothing even. And She would touch and relax the children She lived in until they were limp in Her grasp. Then She would squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until they cried and begged and pleaded for just a moment's respite. Then she would laugh, that eerily beautiful sound that was somehow reminiscent of home and hearth, but grimy and infested. She was like the rainbow scum that twirled upon the surface of oil-tainted rainwater.

_And _She_ had her._

It was like drowning in her own blood. She was desperate and helpless, unable to swim in a torrid, poisonous sea. She coughed and she choked and she clawed at herself and at the air. She was dying with each second, but she knew that she would never truly be allowed to die, not until the Crisis willed it. And if Its will was to continue this for all eternity, Aeris knew that It could.

_But she wouldn't submit. Not again._

Her arm was on fire. Vaguely, in her horrendously scattered mind, through blurred eyes, she wondered if it was even still there. Or had it melted off, wasted away to nothing but putrid black pus?

Still she fought and fought and fought.

The world around her tilted and spun in senseless, frenzied motions. Her body fell to pieces all around her until she was nothing but a rotted shell in a way that she had never, ever been. Her soul, her mind, still trapped in a world that was so, so black and empty. She still couldn't draw breath; couldn't move. There was no way to protect herself from the plague that consumed her from within.

Her skin fell away and her mind was shattered, broken, bleeding. She was skewered from within and there were claws and spears and glass against the inside of her chest and they were tearing at her heart and lungs with every second and ever spasm and she was dying dying _dying-_

But She wouldn't _let her die._

And she needed to _breathe_. She struggled desperately, but what was she struggling against?

Then she felt his hand on her and she moved by perfect instinct. She threw herself at him, not knowing if she even had a body to throw anymore. She clutched at his coat, at his arms, his hair.

He was the enemy and she was once the martyr in the apocalyptic fight against him, but what did any of that matter now? He was cruel and evil and her murderer. She hated him. She _loathed_ him and the last thing she ever wanted to do was touch him.

But he was light and air and so sweet to her starved senses. He was her shield and her seraph.

And _gods above_ what did it really matter? All the lines that separated them and all the ugly truths that would never be erased. All the manipulation and the lies and the terrible intent, they were nothing in this _now_, and what was life except one now and then the next? Heaven knew what would come tomorrow, and heaven could keep that knowledge. She just wanted to stop _thinking_, if only for a few precious moments.

She didn't know why she'd been sent back to this life, or what the purpose in all of it was. Perhaps she had never known Gaia's plans; had always been a willing pawn. Maybe she was throwing herself headlong into his hands and his schemes, or maybe all of this was exactly as destiny intended. Maybe the Planet and the Cetra and the powers of the universe had scripted everything from the beginning of Creation.

Perhaps he was meant to fall and kill and hate and perhaps she had been destined to be a heroine. Perhaps they were all powerless pieces in a universal game of chess, but that didn't quite ring true, did it?

Because in the end, it _had_ been her choice to pray for Holy, as it had been her choice to return to this parody of life with Jenova.

As it was her _choice _to seek out this one moment of peace.

And it was _her_ choice to choose him as she would, tomorrow be damned.

So it was her choice to cling to him and to finally, sweetly and desperately and deeply, kiss him.

And that was all that mattered.

AN: Thanks again to **shetan83 **and **VenusBlade **for beta-reading.


	9. 9

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 09**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

She fell deeper and deeper into him. They danced together in perfect synchrony. His every response pushed her further into his arms as desire fed desire that spiraled ever downward.

His mouth was soft and hot, sweet under the questing insistence of her tongue. His body was firm and solid beneath her fingertips and that was indescribably good because it meant he was real in a world that seemed to be so insubstantial. She greedily touched every part of him – his hair, his face, his chest and back and legs.

She was shameless and wanton, and through it all, she thought she sensed an undercurrent of surprise in him. As though he was shocked at the turn of events, at her behavior. Or perhaps that was just her own deluded perception.

He kissed her back nonetheless, thoroughly and passionately, carefully exploring every crevice of her mouth. She was so yielding against him and he found himself intoxicated and every bit as wild with abandon as the woman he held in his embrace. She tasted unearthly, yet still the flavor of her on his tongue was every bit that of the earth-child that she was. Like warm sunlight and cooling waters and the teeming greenness that together, they gave birth to. It was that exactly – the crystal perfection of all the elements embodied within this last Ancient woman – that made her so transcendental.

She was in his lap, on the bed, naked and shimmering in the firelight like a nymph caught in the sunset. Years of skill and practiced patience seemed to vanish in mere moments and it left him strangely confused and even vulnerable. She was lost in him, unthinking, suddenly a creature of instinct and survival. But he was equally lost in her and that never should have happened.

In minutes, he'd unclasped his pauldrons and she'd released the clip that held his coat shut at his waist. They were carelessly shoved away until they landed on the floor with a soft thump. His lips never left hers as he reached down and awkwardly freed himself of the rest of his garments.

Her legs were silk against his thighs and she felt so, so good against him. He knew that somehow, in a bizarre twist of fate, he'd been reduced to an incompetent schoolboy. On some level, even in the blazing haze of the moment, his anger flared at that realization and he tried to rally his thoughts and take hold of the situation as he should have from the very beginning.

But he failed again and again until in the frenzy of frustration and desire, he simply gave up. She was under him and he was over her and both were panting hard with a hunger and need that neither had ever experienced.

With effort, he held himself in place with their gazes locked. Her eyes were luminous and nothing short of incredible. Their cypress irises were rich and deep and clean, and he could admit, here with her, that she was lovely. His mako-enhanced, feline irises glowed with nearly-disturbing intensity. They were striking in their own right but clouded with glints of yellow. Tainted.

Oddly, in the ethereality of the moment, Aeris thought that they made him even more beautiful. They were the truth, of his twisted anger and hatred, reflected in his appearance. But it was truth nonetheless, so, heavenly in its own right.

His hand caressed the length of her leg before coming to rest behind her knee. Smoothly, he lifted her leg and guided her to wrap herself around him.

For the rest of time, he would not know what brought him to speak his next words.

"Do you understand what you are doing?"

She blinked at him in surprise and concern. She took a slow, deep breath before answering with closed eyes, "No, I don't."

He kissed her breast softly and chuckled. "And?" he asked.

"Please," she whispered brokenly. Here, in this now, there were no shadows or ghosts or pain, and she didn't want this now to end. Beyond, there was fear and uncertainty and responsibility and she couldn't – _couldn't – _deal with them now.

He smiled down at her – a gentle smile that nevertheless failed to touch his eyes.

Then he was inside her and she was sobbing and they were moving, slowly, slowly. The rage of violent desire cooled within them both, leaving a new and novel longing. It was strange and it was frightening, but through it all it was indisputably right and good.

It felt like coming home; which was foreign to Sephiroth, who had never known a home.

And as they were, they were Shiva and Shakti, each a universe of truths in and of themselves, and only together made whole. He was the destroyer and she was energy. As one, they completed each other, as in the beginning of time. From both, united, there was Creation.

And together, now, they became a tear in the veils that separated all the absolute knowledge of the universe, in all its impossibly overwhelming glory. Only from the union of opposites can there be enlightenment, and here, consumed within her and dying with every long, drawn out stroke, he began his journey. Not willingly, not even consciously, but he found himself on the path all the same.

She was soft, dark; he was hard, bright. Yin and yang, and together they transcended the world. It was as it had always been – where light could not exist without dark, nor could hardness exist without softness by its side. She was the earth and he was the heavens and in their union everything came to be.

His breathing was deep and steady and nothing like the animalistic panting that usually accompanied sex. Even through the euphoria he knew that this wasn't normal. But he no longer cared.

His eyes never left her face. The experience was nothing short of amazing and ethereal. In the floating, dancing gold and blue lights around them, she was radiant and breathtaking.

It was as if they were melting and mingling. They were warmth and nothing else; metaphysical in their existence. He flowed into her, melded into her, and she back into him.

And in that place he lost himself completely, shattered into a thousand tiny fragments even as he found himself again and piece by piece reassembled his being. There, just beyond his reach, was something so shocking, so paralyzing in its infinite and indisputable truth of all that was. He didn't know why, but he _wanted _it. Wanted to stretch out and touch it and drown himself in it, even as he knew that it would completely and utterly destroy him.

In that white corner of the heavens where all universal secrets could be found, he caught glimpses of himself and the woman he laid buried within. He saw fragments of clouded images: his human mother, the Promised Land, the puppet, the Lifestream. Cords of light wrapped around all of them, linking one to the other in permanent bonds. Some were thicker, some were thinner, all of different colors.

He saw the past and he saw the faces of billions of people and countless, innumerable creatures and living things. And if he stilled his mind and concentrated, he thought, perhaps, he even glimpsed the future.

But already the images were fading and though he grasped at them like a desperate child, they danced beyond his reach and bled into grayness and then into nothingness. Again, all that existed was his lover beneath him, clinging to him tightly, and the drifting, otherworldly spirit-images that whirled around them endlessly.

The illusory, fluttering spirits of blue and gold swirled around them faster and glowed brighter and brighter. His nerves were stretched now to a feverish pitch, every inch of his body singing powerfully. The sensations gathered and crested and crashed violently and he thought he felt himself die as the world dissolved into white. And perhaps he was reborn all over again in flames and ashes and unimaginable energy.

He was blind and deaf and perhaps even dumb, a single soul in a marvelously changed and yet unchanged world. The cosmos was brighter now; sharper. Yet in all ways the world was as it always had been, both beautiful and ugly and truthful with deceit. The axis of the world had tilted and the revolutions of space reversed. Or perhaps it had always been this way and he was seeing it just now in truth for the very first time.

Then everything vanished in one final burst of light and all that was possible was to simply collapse and let the darkness take him.

AN: Thanks again to **shetan83 **and **VenusBlade **for beta-reading.

So here we come to the core inspiration of Sepsis. Tantra. Isn't that strange? Not the kind of tantra that pop culture tries to sell these days, but the traditional spiritual beliefs. Of course, my rendition is heavily bastardized to suit the purposes of the fic.


	10. 10

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 10**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

Sephiroth threw Aeris against the wall then moved with lightning-fast speed to pin her against it before she could slide down and collapse. His eyes glowed with tainted mako light just inches away from her face.

He was _livid_ and Aeris was suddenly very, very scared.

"What. Happened. Last. Night?" He bit out. He struggled to control his flaring temper. All he had to do was move his hands, just slightly, to wrap them around her neck and end it all right there. He gritted his teeth against the urge and pushed down his black fury. Killing her now would render all the efforts of the past week useless.

She struggled to find her voice, knowing that he would not take it kindly if he thought she was keeping something from him. Bravely, she steadied herself and replied, "What do you mean?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and snarled. "Woman, you know very well what I am talking about!"

Aeris shook her head with quick, jerky motions. She was trembling in his grasp. His fingers at her shoulders tightened, causing her to cry out, more in surprise and terror than actual pain. "No, I don't! I mean, I can't," she told him, stumbling over her words. "How would I know what happened to you?"

Sephiroth's eyes drifted down from her face to sweep over the length of the rest of her body. She stood without a stitch of clothing on; the sheet she'd wrapped herself in had fallen to the floor when he'd thrown her.

He'd woken that morning slowly and comfortably, stretching like a cat before his senses managed to return to him. It was the first time he'd slept in who knows how long. That was unsettling in and of itself, but to come to consciousness as he'd done was ludicrous. Even in the days prior to his first death, rigorous military training has conditioned him to be able to wake within seconds, and without a hint of disorientation. Leisurely mornings were for weak human creatures, not the likes of him.

When he'd opened his eyes, he'd immediately noticed the sleeping woman wrapped in his arms. She was exhausted, with dark smudges beneath her closed eyes, locked in a deep and peaceful slumber. Her head was pillowed on his arm and her legs were still entangled with his. With her rich auburn mane fanned out behind her and the warm glow of the dying fire on her too-pale skin, she looked perfectly vulnerable.

He'd wanted to taste her again and with that thought, all the memories and experiences of the previous night flooded him. It had been too much – too abnormal and inexplicable, so he'd quickly extricated himself from her and fled. _Fled._

She'd stirred slightly, but slept on.

Hours later he'd returned, composed but not calm. He'd turned the events of the night over and over again in his mind until all he felt was anger. He was furious with the Cetra girl and he was furious with the entire world and he was furious with the triple-damned puppet who'd foiled him time and again.

If his tumultuous mind had been quiet and he allowed himself a moment of honesty, he would have admitted that he was more than furious with himself.

As it was, he'd found the woman sitting close to the fireplace with the large, white sheet cloaking her body. The room was chilly; he'd neglected to add more wood to the hearth and now only glowing embers remained. She'd turned around at the sound of the door creaking open with an expression on her face that spoke of many things – fatigue, happiness, fear and apprehension.

She'd carefully risen to her feet as he stalked over to her. Each step he took made his fury more clear until she saw it for what it was but by then he was already in front of her.

So she was trapped solidly between the wall and his large, unyielding body. The cold metal clips of his coat dug into her flesh. The coy little bitch was being uncooperative, feeding his desire to punish her for her insolence.

"You don't know what happened to me, hmm?" He asked her, throwing her rhetorical question back into her face. He leaned in even closer to her, pressing the length of his body harder against her. One hand released her shoulder to wrap lightly around her neck, effectively stilling her. The other reached down to flick callously at the hard bud of her nipple, puckered from the cold. "Was it good for you too?" he asked, his voice both husky and vicious.

She stared at him in shock and even tried to struggle, but quickly froze when he tightened his hand around her throat slightly in response.

"You see," he continued, still glaring at her intensely, "I'm afraid I don't know what happened to you either. Did you have an orgasm?" He laughed. "I suppose I should apologize for being a terrible lover. I was very distracted."

Aeris pressed her lips into a thin line and valiantly fought down the urge to spit at him. Yes, she'd known that he was cruel, evil and by no means sane. And she'd known that she'd been stupid and naïve to do all that she'd done last night, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Why don't you tell me what happened, and then maybe I can tell you what you want to know," she gritted.

Sephiroth nodded with a smirk. "All in good time. Now, I asked you a question. Did you have fun last night?"

Aeris blushed furiously at his words, both from shame and anger. What had she been thinking? "No," she spat. "In fact, you were terrible."

"Now I know that you're lying. You're very bad at it," he told her, amused. "But I should warn you. There are consequences to lying to me. I would think carefully before doing it again."

Without warning, Sephiroth bent down and swept her up into his arms. Aeris shrieked as she suddenly found herself off her feet and facing the floor. Effortlessly, he threw her facedown on the bed. She lay sprawled there, dazed, for a second before she pulled her arms in and pushed herself upwards so that she could rail at the bastard.

But when she pushed, she found a large hand firmly against her back, the supple leather of his glove soft against her skin. He simply held her there, able to do little more than flail her limbs uselessly. He was sitting beside her on the bed, leaned over so that his natural weight kept her down. She struck out with her hand in a failed effort to punch him – anywhere. He caught her fist with his free hand and twisted her arm behind her back to immobilize her. She couldn't struggle. The pain lancing down her arm made it impossible. She held herself still with effort as she felt him transfer his grip on her fist so that her wrist was trapped between his hand and her back.

With her face buried in a pillow, she blushed and cringed at the humiliation of the situation.

Sephiroth ignored her. He was deep in thought, trying to find the words to describe what he'd experienced last night. It was useless. He'd already spent the morning attempting to recall and link to language what he'd seen and felt, but the effort had been in vain. It seemed to him that the passing of each minute further clouded his recollection. A part of him even thought that he'd somehow hallucinated the entire thing. If it weren't for the simple fact that he, Sephiroth, would never fall prey to such weaknesses of the mind, it would have been a better explanation than anything he could imagine the Ancient telling him.

He studied the woman intently. She was still except for the steady but agitated rise and fall of her body with each inhale and exhale. He would become a god soon enough, fully beyond the mortal needs and desires of men, but for now, he was still, in many unfortunate ways, mortal. And certainly, like normal men, sex and aggression drove him. He'd just allowed one to overshadow the other for all those years.

Deliberately, he raised his free hand to his mouth to grip the leather at the tip of his middle finger between his teeth. He pulled his hand from within the tight confines of the glove then carelessly tossed it aside, onto the bedside table. Aeris saw none of this with her face firmly turned away from him. When his fingertips brushed the hairline behind her ear, she tensed immediately, her body like a tightly coiled spring.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Her voice was muffled and tentative.

"Touching you," he answered, knowing it would infuriate her.

Aeris clenched her jaw at that. She turned her head so that she could glare at him with all the anger and disgust she could rally. "I can see that," she said. "Why?"

He lifted an eyebrow at that and looked at her condescendingly. His fingers traced circles over the back of her neck and down over the expanse of her shoulders. "Strange, that you should ask that. It's especially strange coming from the woman who was so _assertive_ last night. Do you realize that if our roles had been reversed, many would consider that to be sexual assault?"

Her mouth opened in horrified shock to hear him say that. Without thinking, she tried to get up again, only to drop back to the bed as his firm hold on her arm made her cry out in pain. She turned away from him again in mortification and wished desperately that she wasn't so exposed or held so vulnerable. She wished that he would just leave and let her think for a moment and perhaps even die of shame alone.

When he'd returned that morning, she'd been lost in her thoughts, but she hadn't been awake for long enough to truly examine them as she needed to. There were too many emotions, all clamoring for attention within the confines of her skull. Like a thousand shouting voices in a single room, it had been impossible for her to properly listen to any of them.

Aeris was, in every way, herself as she had always been. Yet, she had changed, without question, and that really didn't make any sense, but at the same time, she understood in a way that could never be explained. Much like whatever Sephiroth had experienced with her. It was as if layers that she'd been unaware of had been peeled away, strip by strip, day by day, to reveal a little more of her.

It was with astonishment that she'd realized that being naked didn't…bother her. Not entirely, at least. She still desperately wished she had clothes, especially now, to offer her some small amount of psychological protection. But she had been without them for so long and he'd been with her through it all that it mattered so much less. If such a situation had occurred five years ago, before her death, she would have been paralyzed.

And _him_. On that subject she was nothing short of lost. She was both calm and accepting, but horrified with herself all at the same time. All the wrongness and the rightness clashed within her mind. But overlying all of that, she felt an undeniable and comfortable connection that they shared, and she wondered if he felt it too.

She wondered if it had been there before last night, or if the inexplicable, transcendental experience had somehow forged the bond.

But he was right, Aeris silently acknowledged. This…relationship…they now found themselves in was her doing. She had kissed him. She had touched him. She had initiated everything.

In that, she deeply feared that everything she'd ever loved would come crashing down around her in terribly broken pieces.

.

.

.

Please find the rest of this chapter on mediaminer. the link is in my profile.


	11. 11

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 11**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

It had been easy. Sephiroth had covered his tracks and erased all signs of their presence in the ancient city. When the puppet and his troupe arrived, it was to empty houses and unstirred ground.

He'd cocooned the girl in enough batted coverings to keep her warm, then simply scooped her up and flown north to the Corral valley caves. There, he'd stayed tucked away in the shelter of one of the larger cracks in the face of the cliff. He'd kept the girl securely nestled against him, on his lap, for a few hours until he was certain that AVALANCHE had come and gone.

He used the time to silently contemplate all that had occurred in the last few days. It was…_odd._ He didn't know what to make of the events that had transpired and that angered him for the uncertainty it represented. He still did not know what that staggeringly foreign experience had been, when he'd slept with the girl the first time, and it was clear now that no answers would be forthcoming from her.

It had been euphoric. He imagined that drugs produced similar sensations from the descriptions he'd heard many years ago about what "being high" was like. But it was so much more than just that. It was as if, for one instant, the universe had blinked away into nothingness then opened and surrendered itself to him, and with it, all its infinite secrets.

He'd thought that he already possessed all the knowledge the world had to offer. When he'd fallen into the Lifestream so many years ago, it had fused with him and Jenova and given them unbelievable powers. It had opened his eyes and told him all he needed to know and even rid him of the need for materia. The knowledge of the Ancients was within him and that meant all the knowledge of magic that ever existed.

Yet there was more.

But he couldn't recall any of it. Only the knowledge that it _had_ been there.

Had he actually glimpsed something sacred through her? Ludicrous. The girl could not be that special.

Still, whatever the truth was, it had become painfully clear to Sephiroth that something had happened that night that he had never expected and had been unable to plan for.

And that was not acceptable.

The girl would dance to his tune, and he would not allow himself to be swept into such a situation again. He would use her up, destroy Cloud Strife's heart, and ascend to godhood.

For now, it was time to return to the city. He tensed the muscles in his legs and steadied his arms beneath the Cetra that lay on him, still unconscious from his Sleepel spell. He stood and twisted his body so that they could fit through the uneven, narrow entrance of the cave. When they were clear, he smoothly levitated upwards and turned to fly down the path that led back into Ajit. In a few minutes, he reached the house they'd been staying in. He lowered himself until his feet were planted firmly on the ground in front of the door.

Sephiroth made his way up the spiral structure and into the small room tucked away in the corner that he'd designated as Aeris's. He set the girl down on the bed then stepped back to study her before returning to her side, unrolling her from the confines of the layers of bedding. He repositioned her and returned the covers.

When everything looked just as it did several hours ago, he was satisfied. He turned from the room and left.

* * *

Aeris opened her eyes lazily. She had no idea how long she'd been asleep for, but she guessed it had been a while. She felt wonderfully relaxed and generally, well…good. It was disorienting.

She yawned and slowly pulled herself up while rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her fingers. The blanket covering her slid down carelessly to pool around her bare waist. She opened her eyes and looked around, still blinking sleepily. The windowless bedroom gave her no clue as to what time it was. It was dim as always, lit by the blazing fireplace.

She was alone. That was immediately clear.

Aeris felt relieved at that. It was good to be away from him for a moment. She didn't feel like she would have been able to deal with him if he'd been present, or worse, next to her in bed.

Her mind was pleasantly blank and for that she was thankful. Caught in the eye of the world's possible destruction, it was a rare moment of peace. Undeserved, possibly. Maybe even downright foolish, but it was a treasured moment all the same. Petulantly, Aeris thought that after all she'd been through, she deserved some time off to _not_ think about all the horrible things that had happened and were still to come.

But, no, now was not the time. She'd deal with it later. There would be a perfect moment to sort all the conflicting, headache-inducing emotions out and figure out what to do. Later.

Her stomach let out an embarrassing growl. She glanced down at it and chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. Would Sephiroth have left her food? Somehow, she doubted it.

It was peculiar. She felt healthy and overall, pretty normal, which in itself was strange after having been bedridden for so long. Her…what was he to her? Her murderer? Her savior? Her...lover? She couldn't bring herself to think of him as any of those. Stuck, she backtracked.

_He_ was off somewhere and she had no idea how to find him. That wasn't uncommon, but in days past, she'd been unable to do anything but lay around and wait for him to return to take care of her.

Not any more.

With that, she quickly threw off the coverings and climbed to her feet. It felt so good. She spared a moment to stretch her limbs languorously, thoroughly enjoying the novel freedom of her limbs. Then she stopped. She had no clothes.

She would not venture outside naked nor would she let such a trivial thing get in her way. She desperately wanted to feel the sun on her face and inhale some fresh air. It took only a second for her to come to a decision. She pulled the covers off the bed and wrapped and tied one sheet around her as a makeshift dress. The blanket she folded and draped around her shoulders like a cloak for added warmth.

A quick search of the house told her that it was empty, devoid of both food and Sephiroth. Aside from her bedroom, the house looked untouched. It's ancient but well-preserved furniture had not been disturbed.

Bravely, she drew in a deep breath and told herself to ignore the fact that she didn't have shoes. Resolutely, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the Ancient City.

It was midday. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up towards the distant sun – bright, but still cool to the northern continent. It was so, so _good_ to see daylight. Even the brisk wind was welcome for the time being. It cut across her exposed skin and through the material she wore around her. It tasted and smelled clean.

Aeris breathed in and out, deeply, slowly. She opened her eyes and looked down at herself. She was paler than she had ever been. Her uncovered arms seemed almost translucent. She knew she was too thin, could see the unattractive protrusion of the bones in her hands and arms thanks to the hard week following her forced ressurection.

It was likely foolish, but she was too happy with the sense of freedom, false as she knew it was, to simply turn back into the house. What would she do inside, anyways? The last time she'd come to the city, there had been no time to explore it and see the remnants of her ancestors' lost civilization. She'd headed straight for the altar to pray.

Perhaps it was odd, but remembering her last visit to the city brought no feelings of bitterness or remorse. There was merely calm acceptance, like gazing at a painting. The painting simply _was_; the image depicted neither tangible nor consequential to the future. It had been done, she had died, but it had all ended, happily even. There was nothing more to say.

As for this…well, she knew in her soul that somehow, things would work out. The question was, at what price?

Aeris wandered down the dirt path slowly. The ground was cold beneath her feet and the northern air was icy against her skin. Her mass of unbound hair whipped frenetically in the wind, obscuring her sight.

She went from house to house, taking her time, leisurely examining the beautiful, lost architecture of the city. Each house held a hundred of its own memories, things that Aeris could only guess at based on the subtle differences of their interiors. Each house had its own flavor – its own personality.

They also had paintings and portraits, faded though they were. All those long-dead people, all a part of her genealogy. This dead city was her heritage.

It wasn't long before she found herself within eyeshot of the crossroads at the city's main entrance. She wasn't sure how she felt at the sight. Curious, perhaps. Like the last time she'd been here, she felt a strange pull drawing her towards the Forgotten City that lay beneath the ground. She wanted to see it again.

Aeris walked towards the crossroads, the point where the path branched into three. She didn't even consider trying to escape. Where would she go, without food, clothing, or even shoes? She wouldn't get far before either Sephiroth found her or she died of exposure. Well, that or the monsters on the outskirts of the city would eat her. That wouldn't be a very productive use of her second life.

More than that though, she was here for a purpose. Vague and incomprehensible as that purpose was, it wasn't to run away from him.

She walked slowly, step by careful step, into the heavily shadowed center of Ajit. The massive trees that surrounded both the central shell structure and the path that led to it filtered the sunlight so much so that the area always seemed bathed in moonlight. They blocked out the wind too, but Aeris's skin was still covered in goosebumps at the sight of the shell and the lake in front of it.

She'd seen this place before, of course. Even after her death, she'd seen it when she'd watched over her friends. But somehow, in life, it was different. She felt neither angry nor sad, looking at the site of her grave. She certainly wasn't happy either.

Aeris frowned and wrapped her arms tightly around herself in an effort to keep warm.

She tried to remember what mission she'd been charged with. Save the world, get rid of Jenova, etc. That much was obvious, but how? Her memories had returned. She could recall all her experiences both in life and in death, but her duties in this new game were still a complete blur.

Was that intentional? She pressed her lips into a thin line. She didn't like it when Existence used her as a pawn. Or was Jenova still sealing away some of her memories? Keeping her from fulfilling her purpose?

What if she was meant to be acting right now? What if she was wasting valuable time?

Aeris turned and bolted in a sudden wave of irrationality, not knowing what she was doing or where she was trying to head. Back to the house, maybe? To regroup? That didn't make any sense, did it?

She ran into an immovable something and with an _oomph_ fell backwards to land sprawled on her backside. She blinked rapidly and gritted her teeth against the sudden spark of pain in her tailbone.

"My apologies. I wasn't expecting you to turn and run so suddenly," a deep, familiar voice said.

"That's okay," she replied out of habit.

Aeris looked up through her tousled bangs to see him keeling beside her. Firm hands reached out and grasped her by the shoulders to steady her and help her sit up. So many thoughts and feelings arose at the sight of him that in the cacophony of her mind, they resulted in blankness.

She blinked stupidly at him.

He gave her a small, amused smile. "I'm glad to see you're well enough to go for a stroll." His eyes flicked downwards. "Your clothing is very…inventive."

Aeris openly stared at him. Sephiroth ignored her expression and moved away slightly to sit cross-legged across from her with his coat fanned out behind him.

She really had no idea what to say or do and she imagined she probably looked like a terrified waif. A terrified waif facing a megalomaniac while dressed in sheets covered in dirt.

"Hi," she said falteringly. She blinked at him again and furrowed her brow.

"Good afternoon," he replied.

Looking into his expressionless face, Aeris felt a thousand different emotions clamoring within her heart. Anger, fear, humiliation, longing.

He tilted his face up to the dimly illuminated foliage that hung high above their heads. "You're in luck. The weather favors you today."

She opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. What was he playing at, speaking to her as if they were friends out for a nice stroll?

"What do plan on doing with me?" Aeris asked him pointblank.

He didn't look surprised at her sudden question and merely appeared to consider it for a moment before returning his gaze to her again with a smirk and narrowed eyes. "I don't know. I suppose we'll see," he told her.

"Are you being coy?" She asked, surprised and a little horrified. His ambiguity could mean anything.

Sephiroth didn't answer. He turned his head slightly to the side, tilting it downwards to face the edge of the lake they sat by. Still silent, he pulled off one glove to bare strong, pale fingers. His veins were clearly visible beneath the skin of the back of his hand. His fingers skipped across the still water of the lake's surface as if in idle play.

Aeris watched him and frowned. They were sitting by her gravesite, sort of chatting, and now he was playing with the water. It was downright creepy.

"This is twisted," she commented with a scowl.

He shot a sidelong glance at her but didn't remove his fingers from the water. Part of his face was obscured by the fall of his hair. "Life often is," he smoothly replied. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Aeris crossed her arms beneath the sheet she wore as a cloak around her. "Only because people make it so."

"Hmm," he acknowledged. He lifted his hand from the lake and gently shook off the clinging water droplets from his fingers. "But what is life if not people?" he said with a faint smile. His opinion of people, and therefore life, didn't need to be stated. He reached up to brush his hair away from his face and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Aeris was floored. She simply stared at him with wide eyes.

"During my years with Shinra I was thoroughly trained in etiquette," Sephiroth informed her without inflection. "Does that surprise you?"

"No," she answered hesitantly. "I guess not. And that does make sense. There's a difference between a social chameleon and someone who actually cares."

"And you are comparing me to a lizard," he said. His eyes were too bright in the midst of their dim surroundings.

"Well, you certainly don't actually care," Aeris retorted. She turned away from him, pretending to study the shell structure across the lake. Beneath the sheet, her hands rubbed at her arms in an attempt to warm herself.

"Are you so sure?" he asked.

For a moment she hesitated as the barest glimmer of uncertainty took hold of her. Was there a chance that –

No. Absolutely not.

"Sephiroth, you killed me," Aeris reminded him with a hard glare.

He chuckled at her words. "So I did, four years ago," he conceded. "Have you ever wondered if I came to regret my actions?"

She raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. Did he really think her so clueless? "No," she answered succinctly.

"No?" his gaze was almost quizzical. "Perhaps I do."

"You expect me to believe you?" she retorted.

"Are you so sure you shouldn't?" he asked.

Aeris narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "I have no reason to," she answered.

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, just a fraction, at her. That slight change in his expression was enough to clearly convey what he was thinking. All that had happened, all that he'd shown her.

All that they'd shared.

But none of that had been real, had it? Or had it all been painfully true and merely unexpected? Was that possible?

Was that truth?

Aeris used the silence that settled between them to study him as he in turn studied her. Neither of them moved for several minutes. With the surrounding trees shielding them from the wind, not even their hair or clothes stirred as they stared each other down. Aeris had no idea why she continued to look at him.

Finally she asked, "What now?"

"I leave that to you," He readily replied.

"Hmph." For a second, she felt the urge to stick her tongue out at him. "What are you saying? If I tried to leave, would you let me?"

He appeared to think it over for a moment. Finally, in a low voice he replied, "After that…experience…we shared," he said, referring to whatever had happened to him the first time, "Perhaps not."

"So even if I tried, I couldn't get out of here."

He laughed. "So you choose complacency instead? I'm impressed. You are much smarter than your friends."

She glared at him again.

"I believe a better question is," he continued, "Do you want to leave?"

She replied without hesitation, "Of course."

"Oh?" Sephiroth asked. "Where would you go? Back to Cloud, I presume." He flashed her an easy, brilliant smile that somehow instantly changed his demeanor. "Now, be honest with yourself, Aeris," she inhaled sharply at hearing her name on his lips for the first time. "Do you really want to do that?"

She opened her mouth to answer him again that yes, she wanted to leave and find her friends, but nothing came out. Yes, she was duty-bound to stay for reasons that she couldn't even recall, and yes, she was completely helpless, so trying to escape would be nothing but foolish, but was that all?

Or was there something deeply fascinating that she saw in him? It was nothing but a surface glimpse so far and all the more intriguing for the mystery it entailed. Was she drawn to fire like a moth, too stupid to realize what she was headed towards? Or was she right in sensing…_something_…beyond both his icy and perfect exterior and the raging insanity that lay beneath?

He had asked her if she really wanted to leave. And if she were to be truly honest with herself, mission, duty, and feasibility aside, the answer was no.


	12. 12

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 12**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

He'd carried her back to the house, despite her protests that she was perfectly capable of walking. He'd ignored her words, scooped her up, and flown them back.

The fireplace had been restocked and a dead creature awaited them on the table. A blast of fire later and he'd left her alone with her dinner without a word.

Aeris sat by the fire and tried to think. She wished desperately that she could hear the Planet in her mind. Never in all her life had she found herself so unguided and…alone.

She didn't know how to act or what to do or say.

Was she here to fight him? How could she fight him without weapons or materia? She had _nothing_ on hand.

Stall him, then? Until Cloud and everyone could find him and deal with him themselves? That didn't make any sense! Why would he be hiding from AVALANCHE in the first place? Didn't he consider that beneath him?

Where were her friends, anyways? Were they looking for her? Would Cloud know she was alive?

_Idiot. Cloud's the reason _he's_ keeping you here. You _know_ that._

Because there couldn't be any other reason. All the time he'd devoted to her. All the…gentleness.

Carefully scripted and executed gentleness.

_He's using you. You know that. He's going to throw this into Cloud's face._

Right. There was no other feasible explanation for any of this. She could clearly see his maneuvering and manipulation. Excellently conducted, at that.

But still…still…what was it that she couldn't shake? That niggling at the back of her soul. Images and feelings firmly connected to him. Memories of screaming terror and blood-red vision and dancing shadows on distorted walls. Then him, always him, holding her, a silent sentinel at her side.

_Lying sentinel._

_Shut up already._

She could be honest with herself in this moment. He was intriguing. An enigma. Pale and sweet and dark and terrifying. The concealed, leashed menace drew her in. Moth to flame.

_There it is, right there. Perfect analogy. You'll be burned._

_I'm already dead. This isn't really life. Transient, necessary period of half-existence, sent on a mission. What does it matter then?_

What did it matter?

The mission mattered.

What was the mission?

_Fix him?_

_That's ridiculous. And suicidal._

What _was_ it about the "bad boy" type anyway? She thought about it a moment and retracted the thought. The words bad boy and Sephiroth together made her cringe. It was just wrong. And she doubted he'd be too pleased if he ever heard it out loud. Alright then, the wrong type of man. The evil type. The danger.

The excitement. Like diving off of a cliff into deep waters below. There was the thrill and the rush of blood, the furious pace of the heart.

She could feel it even now, thinking about him and remembering their encounters. The underlying fear, not knowing what could be coming next. Not knowing if he'd drop the mask, turn threatening and mad, throw her against the wall again.

_Bad direction, Aeris. Now you're in trouble_

But that was the truth, plain and simple. All the myriad reasons she was still here, in this house, in this room, aside from practicality. That is, her inability to really do anything else.

_Alright, so you're attracted to him, you sick, stupid girl. Don't dwell on it. Think! What to do?_

What could she do? She was stuck, that much was obvious. No way around it.

_Back to plan A, fix him. _

Inwardly, she laughed to herself. Words. It was the words that were funny. The phrasing of that thought. But down to the core, it wasn't that farfetched of an idea. She had been deliberately sent here to him. Why? Certainly not to up and leave at the first opportunity. That wouldn't be a very sensible plan.

And besides, even if there was a way to escape him, she knew that Jenova wouldn't allow her to get very far. The alien cells in her body were the only things allowing her to continue breathing, just as they kept him alive. At any time, She could squeeze down on her nerves again and engage in as much torture as She desired. But She'd been strangely silent since the last time.

Behind her, the bedroom door creaked open. In the sea of sheets wrapped around her body and draped across the floor, she twisted unthinkingly towards the sound. He filled the frame of the door, dressed to eerie perfection in his customary battle gear.

In his arms, he was carrying a pile of clothing. Red and pink.

She looked at him quizzically.

"As lovely as the sheets are, I thought you'd like something a bit different after all these days," he said.

"What is it?" she asked.

He held up the clothing for her inspection. A red dress, soft, clingy. It looked like it would be flattering on her without being overstated.

She blinked in surprise at it. "Where did you get that?"

A small smile touched his lips. "Ask me no questions," he replied.

_And I'll tell you no lies,_ she mentally supplied.

"Come here," he quietly commanded. He draped the garment across one arm and extended the other towards her.

Without thinking, she stood, her arms carefully holding the sheets close to her body. She hesitated, trying to understand herself and him, failing.

He took a step towards her, slowly. Unthreateningly.

"Why?" she asked, suspicion manifest in her voice.

"Have I ever answered that question to date?" he answered, taking another step towards her.

"You're dressing me up," she stated flatly stepping towards him.

He nodded once. His gaze never left hers.

"I'm not your doll," she said.

He smirked at that. "I do believe you are whatever I want you to be. For the time being, at least. But you are welcome to stay in those sheets if you wish." _Step. Step._

She tilted her head to the side, appearing to think it over. "No, you're right," she conceded. "I would like something a bit different." She took the last step so that only a foot of empty space separated them. And in that moment she made a decision.

She would stay. She would enjoy it. And she would show him the truth, and bring the long story of his life and his destruction to a close. As for how she would do all that, well, she'd still have to figure out the details. Talk to him, gain his trust. Insight into his mind. And she would start now.

His free hand, gloved as always, came up slowly to the juncture between her jaw and the column of her neck. Just beneath her ear. Leather stroked her skin gently, sliding down from throat to shoulder, where the edge of the plain white sheet lay. Goosebumps rose over her skin.

"What are you doing? She asked softly.

"Undressing you," he responded.

He tugged gently at the fabric that covered her and she relaxed her arms so that the cloth fell away from her body to pool between their feet.

His gaze remained trained on her as he removed his gloves and tossed them on the bed. He slowly swept her up and down with his gaze and Aeris fought to stop herself from fidgeting under his intimate scrutiny.

He held the dress out to her and she took it wordlessly. She found the zipper, quickly pulled it down and stepped into the body of the dress. The fabric was cool and luxurious against her warm skin. It stretched slightly, strategically, to cling and drape to the best effect.

He'd stepped behind her. She felt his uncovered hand brush the back of her shoulder, the other taking gentle hold of one sleeve of the dress. Carefully, he guided the material over her hand, up the length of her arm to rest just under the curve of her shoulder. He stepped in, pressing his body against her side before pulling on the other sleeve. His fingers trailed down her spine, and she shivered underneath them until they reached the zipper, just above her tailbone. He slowly pulled it up, shutting the garment around her body.

She looked down at herself, trying to assess how she looked. The vain side of her wished she had a mirror. It fit her well. Off-shoulder, slim, elegant.

She turned to face him and said "Thank you. It's beautiful."

His eyes dipped down to study her, lingering on the plunging neckline. "You're welcome," he replied.

Drawing in a deep breath, she asked uncertainly, "Now what? I don't suppose you have shoes for me too?" She shifted from one foot to the other.

He placed his hand on her upper arm and stepped in so that she automatically stepped back. A couple paces in the same direction and she felt the frame and mattress of the bed come up against the back of her legs. The slightest pressure of his hand against her shoulder and she sat, puzzled, on the edge of the bed.

This was it, exactly. The anticipation of his movements. The uncertainty of his intentions. The fact that he was entirely capable of doing _anything_ he chose, but hopefully wouldn't. Or would. Her pulse quickened. She waited for him to move.

He kissed her, softly. Aeris's eyes fluttered closed of their own accord.

He straightened and replaced his gloves before extending a hand and pulling her up from her perch on the bed.

"No shoes," he said. "I prefer you barefoot."

That pissed her off. "Of all the Neanderthal-" she started to say, but before she could finish the thought, he tossed her into the air. She yelped in surprise before being caught in his arms. He carried her out of the room where he picked up what appeared to be a picnic basket from the table before pulling her through the front door. The perpetual winter chill outside of the shell house hit her with a blast of icy wind and she curled closer to his chest automatically, shivering and wrapping her arms around herself.

In the next instant, they were airborne. As Sephiroth shifted the angle of his body so that he flew parallel to the distant ground below, Aeris recalled snippets of her last dream. Inwardly, she shuddered and tried to push the images from her mind. Not only the memories of Jenova and twisted psychosis, but the tender recollections of him as well. They were dangerous. A distorted adaptation of reality she couldn't afford to dwell on. If she allowed dreams to further taint the already filtered truth, she would lose this game without question.

She couldn't tell where they were flying. The sun was high in its trajectory. A clean day. Lovely, save for the chill. The cloud formations passed steadily overhead, and the only sound she heard through the journey was the wind rushing over her ears, madly stirring her hair and his. Neither spoke, preoccupied with their own thoughts.

As she felt him begin to descend, she turned her head to look down and away from him to take in the breathtaking view of the bluff below. The grass wasn't lush; slightly yellowed and straggly, but here on this southern finger of the Northern Continent, just outside of the lifeless circumference surrounding the crater, there was, at least, some sort of life.

The grassy cliff ended abruptly, dropping off to deadly-looking rocks below and crashing waves from the clear ocean. White, foamy crests surged rhythmically against the cliff face and the faint cries of gulls sounded in the distance.

Sephiroth's feet touched down gently on the grass, just a scant few feet from the edge of the cliff, and set Aeris down.

"What do you think?" he asked from behind her as she gazed out at the ocean.

A moment passed before she answered him. "Beautiful," she said quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by the sound of water below. "Thank you for bringing me here." She shivered again and shifted on her feet. Even the southern part of the continent was cold, and the wind blowing off the water worsened the matter.

"Cold?" he whispered teasingly at her ear.

She turned to glare at him in response. Then she felt his arm wrap gently around her waist to pull her back against him before he lowered them both to the ground, his leather jacket in his free hand. Once she was seated on the grass, between his legs and arms, he tossed the discarded coat over her body. She was sandwiched between him and his clothing.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked him, her brow furrowed. It was disconcerting to be with him like this, outside in the dry winter air, with his chest warm and bare against her.

"No," he said, "Soldiers are resilient."

The basket lay at his hip and he nonchalantly reached over and flipped open the top, one hand still resting against Aeris's body. He withdrew a bottle of wine – the cork had been removed and replaced beforehand – glasses and wrapped sandwiches.

The surrealism of the situation struck Aeris hard enough that she shook her head slightly, as if the motion would clear away the strangeness of the situation and the world would return to some semblance of normalcy. No such luck. She was still comfortable ensconced in the lap of the man who'd killed her in cold blood, as he poured red wine into a pair of delicate crystal glasses perched by his knee with one hand. He withdrew a plate from the basket and placed it on the ground before unwrapping one sandwich and setting it on the plate.

Aeris blinked.

Sephiroth handed her one of the glasses, which she gingerly took. He raised the other glass and clinked it gently against hers.

"Cheers," he said, before taking a sip. Silently, still unsure of how to handle the situation, she drank from her own glass with downcast eyes. The waves below broke the silence between them, but not much else.

He held the sandwich. She took a bite and pulled up his coat to cover more of her body against the ocean breeze. He took a bite and returned the sandwich to the plate. Both chewed wordlessly.

Aeris watched the white waves below and the way the sun glinted off the water's rough surface, thinking. How to broach the subject? A good offence. Maybe just take it head on and startle him.

She took a deep breath and said, "Sephiroth, you're not an Ancient."

He didn't respond immediately and she held her breath in anticipation. She waited for him to react, half afraid, half simply curious. When it came, she could only blink in shock.

"Of course," he said.

When she turned to look at him, she saw a small smile flit across his lips. For a moment they simply stared at each other. Aeris's mind was blank.

"Ah," she breathed. _Next move._ She tried to rally her thoughts against him. She sighed and looked down. "You aren't the son of gods either. You're as human now, still, as your mother was." If he knew about Lucrecia, if he knew of his human heritage, history and blood, surely he wouldn't-

"There, you are wrong," he said calmly. "I am as alien to this world now as Mother has always been. But I know you refer to the woman who birthed me."

Aeris gaped at him. "You know of Lucrecia?" she asked in shock.

"Of course," he said again, "The brilliant, overlooked scientist-wife of my _father,_" he sneered slightly at the last.

"But," she stammered, "How can you _do_ all-"

"Your concepts of filial piety mean nothing to me," he interrupted, his voice never rising from its soft volume. "Lucrecia may have carried me to term, but our association ends there. Mother is a part of me as I am a part of Her. What better definition of family can you possibly provide?"

Aeris sucked in a sharp breath. "Lucrecia loved you as her child. She mourned the fact that she never got a chance to hold you, long after her own death. Jenova's just…" she trailed off, scrambling for words. She wrapped her arms tight around her body, wishing that the dress she wore covered more skin. "She's just using you," she finished, shaking, both from fear and increasing anxiety. This wasn't going at all as she'd envisioned it.

Sephiroth sighed and pulled her closer into his embrace. His bare skin was warm against her shoulder, even though by all rights he should have been icy to the touch.

"Incorrect again," he whispered. "Would you like me to enlighten you?"

Aeris could only nod.

"Mother and I share a," he paused, "Symbiotic relationship. As for your first point, Lucrecia's dear human love for her son is questionable at best. You speak of a woman who offered her progeny for untried genetic experiments with extremely high chances of complications."

"She tried to escape," Aeris countered.

"Part way into the pregnancy, when she suddenly grew a human conscience. Yes."

He stopped to drink from his glass and take a bite of the sandwich. He offered it to her and she ate too, only to fill the silence. She swallowed heavily and washed it down with a large gulp of wine before speaking again.

"You don't approve of Lucrecia's actions, and yet you do all this," she said with a slight fluttering gesture. "Why can't you see the wrongness in that?" she took a breath. "Why can't you see your own evil when you can see hers?"

He didn't miss a beat, grinning down at her with perfect, gleaming teeth. His face appeared more shadowed now; the darkness beneath his eyes more pronounced.

"Evil is a point of view," he said. "You see my actions as immoral. Against the natural order. I do not."

Aeris opened her mouth but he spoke again before she could.

"How do you see your own actions?" he asked her.

"What do you mean?"

"You claim my ambitions are evil. How do you classify your own?"

She turned her eyes up towards him, shifted in his embrace and held his gaze. "Everything I do is for the Planet," she spoke with quiet conviction. "The Lifestream and the power that sustains Gaea. Serving Creation is by nature and definition, good."

"And if Creation itself spawned from pre-defined wickedness?" he asked.

"I have no reason to believe that's the case," she replied readily. "Philosophically, yes, if the world was originally created by evil, then I too would be evil." She shrugged at that. "But I've known the Planet intimately and I've lived in the Promised Land, and I know with absolute certainty that they are good."

He nodded with a strange smile of his own. "Ah," he agreed, "But isn't it interesting how humans find it easier to believe that the good world birthed evil men, rather than men being borne of an evil world."

"I believe that if you simply watch Creation, you'll see that that isn't the case. There is _so_ much goodness around us, Sephiroth. You'll see," she said softly, confidently. She could now see the task laid clearly in front of her and she was determined. Impulsively, spurred by the intense sadness that pierced her for him, she snuggled closer to his body, eyes closed. She lifted one arm to rest her palm against his collarbone.

"I believe the exact opposite," he stated with a smirk. His arrogance was unshakeable. "But yes, we will see."

Battle lines drawn, they finished their humble meal in silence, both gazing down at the surf below. Cresting waves thrown against immoveable rock.


	13. 13

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 13**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

* * *

Please note that I have deleted 2 previous chapters that featured AVALANCHE, and that chapters 11-13 are brand new. If you've been following this story since who knows how long, please don't just pick it up at chapter 13.

* * *

Sephiroth flew them back to the city once they'd finished their meal. When they returned to the house, he tended the fire while she remade the bed. The scene was so banal and domestic, it was jarring.

Aeris felt tense, not willing to let her guard down.

"Aren't you worried that Cloud will find us here?" she finally asked. She sat herself down on the edge of the bed and faced him. She wanted to know what was happening out in the world.

"Not at all," he responded. "I assure you that your...friends...are quite busy." he told her without turning away from the fire.

Aeris's hands gripped the mattress beneath her. "What do you mean?"

Sephiroth straightened and turned to face her. He looked vaguely demonic backlit by the fireplace. "They have their hands full dealing with my minions in the cities. But you needn't worry about that," he said dismissively. "You should be more concerned about yourself."

With that, he closed the distance between them and made to reach for a sleeve of her dress.

Aeris jumped to her feet and to the side, out of his reach. She glared at him, remembering the havoc that his creatures had caused in Neo Midgar two years ago. She prayed that her friends were alright and that the citizens were safe.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

He raised a condescending eyebrow and Aeris felt her anger rising.

"I was going to undress you."

Aeris wanted to slap him. "First you tell me that you're putting my friends' lives in danger and then you try to seduce me?" she clenched her fists at her sides, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breathing.

Sephiroth laughed coldly and in the next second, her back was against the wall and his hand was wrapped around her throat. His lips mere inches from hers, he whispered, "Would you prefer that I put your life in danger?"

She fought for air but found none. Her fingernails scratched at his sleeve uselessly. Her mind reeled. What had just happened? Minutes ago they were sharing almost tender moments with each other, and now this?

"You see, I have been very gentle with you up until now, and you have been very, very easy," he said.

He released the pressure of his fingers against her neck and Aeris greedily sucked in air. Her face burned at his words. She tried to strike him with her hand but he caught it and pinned both of her hands above her head, against the wall.

"And frankly," he continued, "I don't prefer it that way."

.

.

.

rest of the chapter can be found on media miner. the link is in my profile.

* * *

A/N: wow, I'm alive. Imagine that.

In the event that anyone cares, I have 3 weeks left before I start my MBA, which means 3 more weeks of blissful unemployment, and I've decided to make a sincere effort to get some work done on Sepsis in that time. After all these years (good lord), I still really like the idea behind this story, and I know how much *I* look forward to my favorite authors picking up their abandoned fics.

I have to say, to my readers who've come back again and again to drop lines of encouragement, if it wasn't for you, this story would never have hope of seeing completion. Thank you for taking the time to leave comments.

To my readers who've been with this story since forever ago, you may notice, if you decide to re-read, that all chapters with AVALANCHE have been deleted. I'm no good at handling that many characters, especially when I don't really care about them. So no more Cloud and party, it's just all AeriSeph, all the time.

Sepsis turned out to have way more explicit sex in it than even I'd originally intended. That's kind of messed up. Lol. Hence why I've cut it up a little and posted the uncut version on mediaminer. You can't just read the cut version, unfortunately, as the plot is wound intimately with the graphic sex. So if it squicks you out, I'm sorry, this story is definitely not for you.

If you would be so kind as to continue leaving reviews on , even if the full chapters are on mediaminer, I would be grateful.

Oh, and drop me a line with your email address if you would like to beta! ^_^

Until next time!

-Lyra


	14. 14

**Sepsis**

**Chapter 14**

**By Lyralina Sanzennine**

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.

X – X – X – X – X

He was floating, alone, in a sea of color.

He was Creation, the godhood he aspired to claim for himself.

But here in this lullaby valley, with the universe at his fingertips, all the knowledge of the cosmos on his lips, it felt nothing at all like his power over the Geostigma-tainted lifestream. It felt nothing at all like the surge of triumph when spirit energy gathered in his palm, when the world fell to its knees before him, when it crumbled, preparing to submit itself to his being.

It felt nothing at all like the ecstasy of domination.

It felt like peace.

Silence.

Love.

But Sephiroth had no knowledge of love.

So he held himself still in that river of time, in that current of space, and surrendered his soul to the Truth, whatever that may be.

X – X – X – X – X

He was ten years old.

Not as a memory, but in actuality. For all existence is simultaneous. All existence is eternal.

He looked into the green eyes of a woman almost old enough to be his mother. Her eyes were the color of the earth.

She sat on the operating table, unrestrained, her expression sad and faraway.

"Why do you let them use you?" he asked her.

"Because they have my daughter," she answered.

"Is that so important?" he asked.

"It's the most important thing in the world," she answered.

He thought that strange. Hojo was his father, as this woman was her child's mother. He didn't think these adults' perspectives on life would see eye to eye.

"Why do you let them use you?" she asked him.

"Because I have no choice," he answered.

She shook her head. Her chestnut hair rippled down her back. Her eyes alight with life.

"Never believe that," she said. "Never let them tell you that. Choice is the one thing you will always have - your right as a human being. You may not always have good choices to make, but they're always yours to command."

He stared at her.

She smiled at him, tiny crow's feet crinkling at the edges of her eyes.

He thought they were beautiful.

"My name is Ifalna," she said. "What's yours?"

She slipped away as a thousand golden fireflies blown apart by the wind.

X – X – X – X – X

He was thirteen years old.

Hojo wanted him to masturbate into a cup.

"You're plenty old enough, boy," the scientist sneered. "Now get on with it."

He took the cup from the man's hands. He hated the man.

He hated himself.

The man left the room. The boy obeyed.

He handed the filled cup over.

"What are you going to do with that?" he asked.

The scientist grinned wickedly. "I'm going to impregnate the Cetra woman."

He wanted to die. He wanted to be a stronger person.

A few weeks later, Hojo ordered him to do it again.

"It didn't work," the man explained. "I need another sample."

The man held the cup out to him. The boy knocked it out of his hands.

"You impudent little-"

He barely felt the slap across his face, he was too absorbed in her words.

_Choice is the one thing you will always have - your right as a human being._

He stared at the man, unblinking. He didn't give one whit about the angry pink handprint on his face. What are you going to do about it? His demeanor asked. What power do you have over me?

The man stormed off without another word. He never asked for a semen sample again.

The laboratory vanished like a flame snuffed out.

X – X – X – X – X

He was fifteen years old and Hojo had become afraid of him.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he told her.

The woman had aged far more than she should have. Her hair was peppered gray, her skin dull in the florescent light of the lab. She sat on the same operating table that she always did when he saw her.

"How?" she asked. "Won't it be dangerous for you?"

He nodded his agreement. "But it doesn't matter. Hojo can't touch me now. I'm too valuable to the army. I'm much stronger than him and his assistants. And he doesn't have anything on me to make me behave."

She nodded and smiled at him through the glass that separated them.

"What will you do afterwards?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe I'll become a hero. But either way, it will be my choice."

Her smile was his heaven. He would have slaughtered a nation to preserve it.

"When you've become a hero then, come and find us. We'll wait for you." she said.

He nodded his promise.

And she melted away in a waterfall of blue. The world dissolved beneath him.

X – X – X – X – X

He lay in the cradle of life, his every heartbeat marking the birth of a star. He wanted to stay here forever, this place where the universe was in perfect order, where he was united with all existence, where everything was logic and beauty.

But the talons of the world reached for him, inky black against the gold tapestry of this nebula. The flames of Nibelheim licked at his feet. The blood of Wutai spilled upon his arms. The voice of his mother called to him. My child, my child, come back to me.

He looked one last time upon the skyscape of creation, drinking his fill. He inhaled the stardust of galaxies and exhaled the anguish of his soul.

As he let the darkness take him, he asked, _Why?_

Because even Judas is a necessity, the cosmos whispered.

She whispered, whispered, whispered.

X – X – X – X – X

He was sleeping.

And his mother wanted to know what in hell's name had gotten into him.

Had he lost his mind? Lost focus? What games was he playing at with the Ancient girl?

He batted her consciousness away with vague irritation. Her fury swept over him in waves, refusing to be ignored.

_What are you doing?_

Resting. Sleeping. Leave me be.

_Wasting time. Strike now._

No. It was too early. Haste would not serve them. Godhood surely awaited them at the end of this path. It was not going anywhere. It would not slip past his fingers.

_I WANT…_

Yes, the want. Wanting to replicate. To consume. To propagate.

_So what are you doing? With her?_

He was…enslaving her soul. Binding her. He wanted, above all but his apotheosis, to crush the puppet with her absolute submission. To look into the puppet's eyes as he realized that the holy martyr was now desperate for the touch of her murderer. What could be more poetic? What could be more perfect?

_Affection for the girl? Losing your head?_

No. What he did, he did to condition. He would be there to catch her when she fell. To feed her when she hungered. But she would have no delusions about who or what he was. He would not allow her to pretend that he was some misunderstood antihero.

No, he wanted her to cling to him, to want him, in spite of her revulsion for him, for his desires. In spite of her own character and pride.

He wanted her to know that she was a toy in his hand, a petal he could crush. Just as humans were ants compared to his greatness.

_We are the infinite, you and I._

Yes, they were raw power, consuming everything in their path. They would be God. They would be everything, sailing the darkness of the cosmos with Gaia as their ship. They would create a new land, new life, their new utopia, limited only by his mind, his genius.

But from somewhere far away, a memory knocked upon the door of his soul; so soft, he barely heard her pleas against the stone.

Choice is the one thing you will always have…

But he was no longer human. Had never been human.

No, this _was_ his choice. This was his path. He would never forget that. Dancing lights and floating peace be damned.

_We won't let ourselves be tricked by her petty magic._

No, we won't…

We won't…

_You should wake up._

Sephiroth stirred, his eyes fluttered open with effort. His body felt languid and he had to fight to regain control of his senses. He pulled his strength to him and sat up to find himself dressed the same way he had been last night. His torso bare, pants on but undone, boots still encased his feet.

The Cetra girl was nowhere in sight.


End file.
